Last Night of the World
by more-than-words
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple trip overseas to show support for a US company investing in an unstable country. But then on the last night while attending a reception at the presidential palace, Elizabeth and Henry find themselves in a situation much more complicated - and much more dangerous - than they were expecting.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All I own is the season one boxset. Petria is a fictional country made up for the purposes of amusing myself with this fic.

 **Summary:** It was supposed to be a simple trip overseas to show support for a US company investing in an unstable country. But then on the last night while attending a reception at the presidential palace, Elizabeth and Henry find themselves in a situation much more complicated - and much more dangerous - than they were expecting. Set after season two. Multi-chapter.

 **A/N:** Hello! So... I'm dead nervous about posting this story and I'm not sure it works as a concept so I'd love to know what you all think and if it's worth carrying on with or if I should just put it away in a drawer somewhere and back away slowly from the fic… any comments welcome! Thanks for reading :)

* * *

 **Chapter One**

"We're aiming for the facility to be carbon neutral - absolutely zero waste - within three years, Ma'am."

Elizabeth McCord nodded in understanding, hoping to give the impression that the information from the man from the power plant was new. He seemed so eager to impress her, reaching up to fiddle with his bow tie and giving her the toothy smile that American businessmen abroad often gave her at events such as this. The one that tried to ally themselves with her because of their shared nationality in a foreign country. The one that suggested he enjoyed being the educator, and that was just the wrong side of smarmy.

She hadn't the heart to tell him that, actually, she had already spent the best part of a day at the renewable energy plant accompanied by its chief executive, this man's boss, not to mention that she had spent much of the fourteen hour flight to get there reading an extensive briefing book on the topic. She thought what she could say that would make her seem engaged without upsetting the man's ego. "Well, with four thousand employees working full time, you'll certainly be able to make your own fertiliser. Very efficient."

The man blinked at her.

Maybe attempting a joke hadn't been the best way to go. She smiled awkwardly, drinking from her champagne glass and looking around for a distraction. Where were her staff when she needed them to rescue her?

Mercifully, after only a few seconds, a distraction found her.

Henry appeared at her side with a polite smile and a smooth handshake for the fertiliser man, saying to him, "I hope you don't mind if I steal my wife for a dance before the evening ends?"

He didn't wait for a response, instead clapping the man on the shoulder in a friendly gesture before swiping Elizabeth's glass and abandoning it on the table behind her. He replaced the glass with his hand in hers, giving her a gentle tug towards the marble dancefloor. He smiled over his shoulder at the fertiliser man. "Thanks so much."

"That was smooth, professor," Elizabeth told her husband as he swept her up in his arms and started to sway to the music that was playing. "Although not subtle."

Henry chuckled and cast his eye around the lavish ballroom they found themselves in. "Nothing about this place is subtle, babe." He frowned. "And this music is not easy to dance to."

That much was true. The music was something vaguely folky, but not in the way Elizabeth was used to. She glanced over at the musicians playing at one end of the room. "I'm told our entertainment this evening is a traditional Petrian quintet. They're playing songs from their heritage."

"That's great, but would it be too much to ask for the music of their heritage to have a recognisable beat?"

Elizabeth smiled at Henry's genuinely perplexed expression, tightening her hold on his shoulder as they moved a little awkwardly around the floor. A few couples away she spotted President Zembrovko dancing with his wife, accidentally catching his eye. He gave her a smile that was outwardly friendly but that covered a suspicious hostility she knew lurked there. She returned the smile, confident that she was able to hide her dislike of the man better than he was his dislike of her. Still, he wasn't the most objectionable member of the government of Petria that she had met so far. She could at least hold a vaguely productive conversation with him. Unlike her counterpart at the Petrian Department of Foreign Affairs…

Henry engaged her in a little spin, drawing her attention back to him. "What's on your mind?" he questioned her, one hand riding low on her waist, his thumb stroking softly through the fabric of her evening gown.

She sighed. "Nothing. Everything." She shrugged as best she could while standing securely in Henry's hold. "I'm looking forward to getting on the plane later."

She had been dreading the red eye back to Washington DC, but the last few days in Petria had taken their toll, and she was more than ready to leave. What was supposed to be a relatively simple trip to show support for a US company making a big investment in an unstable country – albeit a simple trip with above-average security arrangements – had been plagued by protests and demonstrations and a building row between governments over the presence of the US company. Conversations had grown increasingly tense, and the divide was highlighted at this last night reception at the presidential palace: the US delegation kept to one half of the room, while the Petrians were on the other. Just like an awkward middle school dance.

Henry's head dipped low so he could speak quietly into her ear without being overheard. "Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?" He planted a kiss on her cheekbone as he pulled back.

She smiled at him – her sweet, wonderful husband, who had been genuinely enthusiastic about accompanying her on this trip so that he could tour the impressive local churches and meet up with a contact in the clergy while she shook hands with government officials who ranged from wary of her to outwardly disparaging, and listened to middle-aged men talk about the potential of waste water like there was nothing they found more arousing. Henry's enthralled daily description of what he had seen and done had been the only thing keeping a smile on her face over the past few days of boredom, terse negotiations and her Diplomatic Security agents hovering too close to her side every time they saw someone with a protest sign. The time together away from home had also helped to mend some of the rifts that had developed in their relationship over the past year – Dmitri and the yelling and the rest. It was almost like they were new again, relearning each other, and Elizabeth was enjoying their renewed closeness greatly. "Hmm, no, I don't think you did," she replied to Henry, knowing that he had already told her twice but keen to play along with his flirting.

After all, they were getting on the red eye soon, and she never slept that well on planes. They'd have to pass the time _somehow_.

Henry feigned surprise. "Oh! Well, let me tell you. You look incredible in that dress." His voice was low and his tone was sincere as he glanced down her body at the blue silk dress with the sweetheart neckline and skirt that flared out from her hips and ended just below her knees.

Heat flushed within her as the rumble of his voice passed from his chest to hers. She moved her hand from Henry's arm to stroke her fingers over his cravat – the colour of which was practically identical to the smoky gunmetal blue of her dress. "You're looking pretty delectable yourself, Dr McCord." She looked up into his eyes so he could see the truth of her statement, certain that her pupils would be just dilated enough for him to notice.

His lips brushed briefly over her hairline, as close as he could get without drawing too much unwanted attention in the very public ballroom at the event held in Elizabeth's honour. He was breathing deeply and precisely as if to steady himself. "When are we due to leave again?" he asked.

She was just about to answer him when the first gunshot fired.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all so, so much for the wonderful support on the previous chapter. You properly brightened up my crap week at work! I hope this next instalment meets with approval :)

P.S. Should I get Tumblr? Is Tumblr good?

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

It took her brain a couple of seconds to register what it was.

She ran through all the likely mundane possibilities in the first second.

A tray dropped by a waiter. A sudden car crash outside. A bit of decorative cement falling from the ceiling.

The next second told her that a dropped tray wouldn't sound like that, there was no road close enough for an audible car crash, and that the building was structurally sound. Then the screams of people close by registered in her head, and that was when her brain caught up with the adrenaline that was instinctively sparking through her body.

Someone had fired a gun. Elizabeth jolted back, a delayed instinct.

Then there was another gunshot, and Henry's hand tightened on hers as he realised what it was and said, "Oh my _God._ "

They stood there frozen in the middle of the dancefloor, stopped mid-step and still in hold even though the music had come to an abrupt end at the sound of screaming from somewhere near the entrance. Everyone around them seemed to be suspended in the moment, their senses not yet unstuck enough to react.

"Madam Secretary!"

Elizabeth's head whipped round at the sound of Matt her DS agent as he ran towards her from where he had been stationed near the door. Something made her look behind him and she caught sight of a woman on the ground just inside the room, and a wet splash of red on her otherwise yellow dress. _Shit._ Standing over the woman were two armed men, dressed entirely in black, wearing Kevlar vests and masks over their faces and sturdy black helmets that at a glance she would guess to be high-grade military issue. They were holding rifles that they aimed at the guests closest to the door.

Oh God. The presidential palace was under attack.

"Elizabeth, move," Henry said quietly, using the arm he had around her waist to apply pressure and urge her in the opposite direction, towards a door in the far left corner of the room that led to a corridor behind the scenes at the palace.

Matt and another of her DS agents were almost with them, and it made sense that they would go for the far door. It was hidden out of the way and most of the other guests would probably not be aware of it. If they ran for it now, they should have a clear path through. Elizabeth, with Henry pressing close against her, took a couple of stumbling, halting steps towards it.

Then all of the windows exploded inwards.

The noise was deafening, the sound of the initial explosion echoing in her ears and combining with the crash of shattering glass, more gunshots from the entranceway and the shouts and screams of four hundred shocked and frightened people. Dust rained down along with the broken glass, and Elizabeth was just able to catch a glimpse of Matt losing his footing and stumbling a few metres away before she lost sight of him in the crush of bodies and falling debris from the damaged building.

"We gotta go!" she yelled at Henry as they twisted around where they stood, trying to determine exactly what had happened and which way they should go.

"That way." He pushed at her shoulder to turn her in the direction of the far corner where the other door was, holding tight to her arm. They started moving forward.

A loud, authoritative shout from somewhere near the entrance – one of the bulletproof men, no doubt. What were they saying? Their words were too muffled and too far away and her ears were ringing too loudly with panic for Elizabeth to make out the words, but a few seconds later a group of people to the left of her suddenly started surging back, clearing a circle, and she bet she knew exactly what it was.

The small hand grenade that had landed in the centre of the circle went off, confirming her suspicions and leaving those who hadn't made it out of the way on time bloodied and on the ground. _Oh no._

People were _dying_.

Some part of her urged her to go to them – urged her to help – but she had Henry with her and she didn't know what these perpetrators wanted and it couldn't be a coincidence that the attack was timed to coincide with her visit, and so there was no way she could stay.

The throng of people trying to flee in the opposite direction were blocking the route they were trying to take.

Aided by Henry at her back, Elizabeth tried to push her way through. She could just see the door twenty or so metres away. They could make it.

The lights went out and the level of panic in the room increased tenfold.

Elizabeth blinked against the darkness. She could hear her pulse racing, could feel the beat of it in her chest and was hyper aware of the rush of blood in her veins as she struggled to compensate for the sudden drastic change in lighting. It wasn't pitch black; there was a little light from the broken windows and an emergency strip light that ran along the floor, but the unexpected change and the clouding dust and press of bodies around her threw her off. Behind her, Henry tripped, snagging her abruptly around the waist to steady himself and swearing in her ear as he did. "Sorry," he said as he righted their position.

She gripped his forearm tight to keep him with her. She _couldn't_ lose Henry. She couldn't.

She had already lost track of her DS agents.

"Stay with me." She yelled to be heard above the noise and turned her head back for just a second to reassure herself with the sight of Henry's face. His worried gaze found hers, but she could still see the determination in him. The former Marine was not about to lose his cool.

Good. That was good.

Someone bumped into her, jostling her and unsettling Henry's arm from around her waist. She stumbled, suddenly anchorless, reaching out for Henry but instead catching the arm of a passing man who shrugged her off as he barged past, the force of the shove sending her tumbling to the ground.

"Elizabeth!"

She heard Henry's yell from somewhere above her as she hit the marble hard on her hands and knees. OK. _Don't panic._ It was OK. All she had to do was get up. Push up from her knees and reach one hand up for Henry to grab and then run full pelt to the door in the back corner. Easy. But then someone's shoe collided solidly with her shoulder as they moved swiftly past, jarring her and making her lose her balance. She cried out with the shock of it as she crashed down, her head thumping the marble and sending little bursts of light exploding in her vision like fireworks.

* * *

Henry reached out for Elizabeth as the running man shoved her and she started to fall. Her name was ripped from his throat as he tried to grab her and failed, dodging back to avoid a couple of people trying to get by.

As he dodged to avoid the collision, he lost sight of his wife and for the first time felt the true terror of the situation wash over him.

He had no idea what was going on. It had all happened so fast. One moment he was dancing and flirting with Elizabeth and the next there was carnage. He knew Elizabeth's security detail was in the room, no doubt looking for them, but he had no idea whereabouts they were.

And frankly they weren't Henry's first priority.

He heard Elizabeth's shout from the ground and Henry bodily pushed someone out of his way so he could get to her. _Thank God._ He saw the blue of her dress and the blonde of her hair and reached down to pull her up, his hands tight on her arms. She came back up to him, but she wasn't helping him as much as she should be, a little too much dead weight for his liking even as he saw her pushing up with her palms against the marble.

"You OK?" He had to yell the question into her ear to be heard over the din ricocheting off the marble room like bullets.

And, of course, there were also _actual_ bullets ricocheting off the marble.

Elizabeth blinked rapidly like she was having trouble focusing, clutching his arms as she used him for balance. It took a few seconds – seconds they could ill afford to lose – but then she nodded, looking steadier on her feet. "Fine," she replied, and it sounded like the truth.

Henry pulled her to him in a tight, brief hug. He had only lost sight of her for four or five seconds but he had felt every microbeat of them. They absolutely could not afford to get separated. They needed to get out – together. He was about to tell her to run for her life but then another gun went off, closer this time, much closer, close enough that Henry heard the crack and echo and the screams this time weren't from the opposite side of the room but maybe two or three people away. _Way_ too close.

On instinct, they started to run, hands clasped tight together in a bruising grip so that they wouldn't be parted. A tiny part of Henry's mind was still wondering what this was, what was happening, wanting answers and an explanation, worrying that it was only happening because the perpetrators knew about Elizabeth's presence – that she was a target. The rest of his mind was focused on getting out, his military training helping to keep him focused on the task at hand.

Get out first. Worry about the rest later.

The rest. Like what had happened to Elizabeth's security detail. He had seen Matt stumble when the windows exploded. He hoped that they'd be able to regroup and _soon_.

He was aware of sweat beading on his forehead and mixing with the dust that had fallen to cake his skin. His lungs were burning with the effort of moving against the crowd. He could feel the adrenaline white hot in his gut and in his veins. And Elizabeth's hand in his, where it should be. For now, that was all that mattered.

And there – there was the door at the back of the room, the one that most people probably wouldn't even notice because it was set back behind the stage where the musicians had been performing, used only by staff and officials and not the party guests who had been ushered in through the front.

The door was ajar like someone had already gone through it. Henry thought nothing of it. The musicians had probably used it to flee, and maybe a few guests who had been close by and spied the exit route.

He put on a burst of speed as they reached the door, Elizabeth keeping pace at his side, both of them breathing heavily. They ran through the door…

… and immediately stopped dead at the sight of what was on the other side.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm so overwhelmed by all your wonderful comments and everyone who has read this so far. Honestly, thank you so much. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations!

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

Dead bodies.

Bodies – as in more than one. It was hard to make out any detail in the darkened corridor, but the still lumps she could see on the floor were unmistakeable.

"Oh my God," Elizabeth said on a rushed breath that was forced from her lungs like she'd been punched. She felt as though she had. She hadn't been expecting the dead people.

Henry's hand slid up from hers to hold onto her arm and he shifted closer to her as they stood in the corridor just outside the ballroom where an attack – a _massacre_ – was taking place. He lifted his other hand to press one finger to his lips in a gesture to say that they should keep quiet.

He was right. They had seen masked men enter the ballroom from the front, but they didn't know who had been responsible for the deaths in the corridor. Someone had obviously done it, and there was a chance that they had yet to leave. They could be close by.

Or watching them.

 _Don't think about that._

Finally, the lights started to flicker back to life, either the power to the building restored or an emergency generator kicking in. Elizabeth blinked in the sudden if shaky brightness, the light making her squint for a moment until her eyes had adjusted and the pulsing in her head had calmed. Then she forced herself to look at the people lying dead on the ground, making herself look beyond the blood and the shock on their faces and the sheer awfulness of it to anything that might provide some information. What she realised made her blood run cold.

There were two people on the ground who were obviously party guests trying to flee. From the look of it she'd guess that they had been gunned down from behind as they ran. Whoever was responsible was obviously not abiding by even the bastard's code of honour that suggested shooting unarmed people in the back was wrong.

That was awful enough, but there were four other dead bodies along the corridor, and all of them were dressed in the official charcoal grey uniform of the security staff at the presidential palace. They were the people charged with protecting the life of the President of Petria, and all of them appeared to have taken a bullet to the back of the head. Like they had been executed.

"They were hit at the same time," Elizabeth said, despite Henry's warning to keep quiet. "The rest would have had time to react if they were shot one at a time. It happened at once."

Henry nodded in agreement, looking at the dead security team – two men and two women – lying in the corridor. They were in pairs, and both pairs were near doors. Their murderers must simply have opened the doors at the right moment and shot them in quick succession, before they could reach for their weapons, before they even knew what was happening. "I don't like this," Henry said.

It was an understatement, but Elizabeth knew what he meant, and agreed with his assessment. The nature of the killings suggested a worryingly competent level of organisation and coordination, as well as considerable resources in terms of both personnel and equipment. It also meant the attack on the ballroom was not in isolation and was in fact coordinated with a wider event that went beyond shock value. Elizabeth was frantically trying to think ahead to the end game of what the perpetrators were after so she could try and find a way to subvert their plans, but she did not yet have enough information to put together a cohesive theory.

And there was the small matter of getting out alive before anything else.

The noise from within the ballroom was quietening ever so slightly, and that was cause for concern. It meant that the initial attack was likely nearing completion and the next – unknown - phase could not be far away. Whatever was supposed to come next, it didn't seem wise for the Secretary of State to be around while it happened.

"That way," Henry said, pointing down the corridor. It was a route they had come earlier in the evening when they had arrived at the back entrance of the palace for the reception. If they went down the corridor, to the right and down a flight of stairs they would reach the entrance where they had left the car and two Diplomatic Security agents.

It was risky, but better than heading a different route that would take them deeper into the unfamiliar palace and further away from an escape. As long as the DS guys had not been targeted in the same way as President Zembrovko's security team, they should be OK.

And if they had been targeted, what then?

Elizabeth couldn't let herself think about that yet. They _had_ to be OK. She had to make sure, if nothing else, that Henry was OK. She needed to get him out - and preferably wanted to get herself out with him. That was all that mattered, and she would do it no matter what.

Whatever happened, whatever was going on, she would deal with it.

Easier said than done.

Even with her firm resolution and priority, she couldn't quell her rising stress levels as she and Henry started to make their way down the corridor, keeping close to the wall and looking around every couple of steps in case anyone was lying in wait or creeping up behind them. Henry still had a death grip on her arm and she could feel the sweat on his palm even through the long silk sleeve of her blue ball dress, an indicator that he was not as calm as he appeared to be. Elizabeth was aware of a slight pulsing just above her left eye, where her forehead had struck the ground earlier. The pain wasn't bad, just a minor bump, but it reminded her of its presence every time she turned her head to check they weren't being followed by anyone likely to kill them, making her wince. She didn't think that her heart had beat so fast or as loudly since that awful time in Iran a year ago.

She only needed one more bad thing to happen before the day was out to make the visit to Petria overtake the Iran incident and become her worst foreign trip to date as Secretary of State. Given her luck overseas, maybe it would be wise to take Conrad up on his offer of being his Vice President after all; she'd probably get to stay in the country more.

They were nearing the corner that would take them to the staircase down to the exit when it happened.

* * *

There were voices coming from just past the stairwell and around to the left.

She shouldn't care who it was or what they were saying. She should care only that the voices were beyond the corner she and Henry needed to take and so irrelevant as long as they didn't move any closer or realise that they weren't alone. She was so close to not caring, but as they came up on the right hand turn into the stairwell, they paused for one last look around the corridor, and the new angle gave her a different vantage point.

Her blood ran cold in her veins.

Behind her, Henry sucked in a breath and held it, and she knew that he had seen it too.

Around the corner, President Zembrovko was being held at gunpoint.

Without thinking about it, Elizabeth started to step forward until a split second later reason kicked back in and stopped her – along with Henry's hands banding around her biceps and pulling her back to his chest. "Don't," he whispered in her ear.

She wasn't sure what she had been trying to do, but she strongly felt the need to do _something_.

Artur Zembrovko had his hands in the air, surrendering to whomever it was that was holding the gun on him. Elizabeth couldn't see them from where she and Henry hid just inside the door to the stairwell, could only see the barrel of the gun on one side of the stand-off and the back of the President on the other, the bald spot on the back of his head shining with sweat. She noticed that his suit didn't quite fit him properly, a little too tight around his middle.

She noticed something else, too; something bigger, more important.

Something was missing… some _one_.

His wife. Where was the President's wife? Emilia had been present earlier in the evening, dancing with her husband when the first shot was fired. Had she made it out?

Then Elizabeth noticed that there was dark red blood coating Zembrovko's hands and his head kept turning between whoever held the gun on him and something down on the floor to his left. She coupled that with the obvious, raw distress in his voice and she thought that she knew what had happened to the man's wife.

She swallowed heavily and was about to turn and press Henry further back from the door and down the stairs to the exit – needing more than ever to get him out, _desperate_ to get him out – when something made her pause.

The man holding the gun on Zembrovko said something. She wasn't entirely sure what because he spoke quietly and they were too far away and she wasn't completely fluent in Russian, the main official language of Petria, but she knew the voice that spoke it.

"Oh my God, Henry," she said, quietly.

His breath disturbed her hair. "What?"

Zembrovko took a stumbling step backwards before Elizabeth could answer Henry, coming more fully into their line of vision. He was followed by the man who held the gun and then she had no need to explain to Henry because he got it for himself.

The man with the gun was Gleb Kodalov, the country's Minister of State for Foreign Affairs. His arm did not waver as he trained the gun on Artur Zembrovko.

Elizabeth knew enough Russian to understand what was said next, but she didn't really need to: the expression on Zembrovko's face was universal. "Please," he said, his tone pleading and begging. The blood on his hands was running down his wrists to stain the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Minister Kodalov tilted his head to the side for a moment, regarding his boss with a smile. Then he straightened up and he sounded completely valedictory when he said, "Say hello to your new president." A pause. He cocked the gun. Then he said, "Now say goodbye."

He fired.

* * *

President Conrad Dalton was just finishing up a budget meeting with some of his finance staffers when his Chief of Staff pushed open the door and entered the Oval Office without knocking, a little out of breath like he had just sprinted the short distance from his office.

"Mr President," Russell Jackson said, casting a glare over the other people he found in the room.

Annoyed at the rude interruption, Conrad was a little cool when he answered. "Can we help you, Russell?"

"I need the room for a minute, sir. Now."

It was in his mind to object, to tell Russell that he could say whatever it was he had to say in the presence of everyone else, but he quickly decided against it. Russell's usual approach might best be described as 'barrel straight in and don't worry about saying please or thank you unless absolutely necessary' and he could therefore come across as a little over dramatic at times, but he did tend to know where the boundaries lay. He didn't barge into closed door meetings in the Oval Office without a good reason, and so Conrad nodded in agreement. The well-trained staffers he was meeting with dutifully collected up their papers and trailed out of the door, obviously not fast enough for Russell, who was shifting from one foot to the other, practically vibrating with energy.

"What is it, Russell?" Conrad asked as the last staffer left the room.

There was a delay in the answer as Russell ensured the door was shut before walking over to join Conrad standing by the Resolute desk. His voice was the slightest bit shaky when he spoke. "We're getting reports of a developing situation, sir. Details are sketchy and intelligence is pretty thin at this point, but it has been confirmed that the Presidential Palace in the Petrian capital of Rusapol is currently under attack."

Conrad frowned. That was certainly important news, and something he needed to know about for sure, but it wasn't something that necessitated the abandonment of an important meeting in the Oval Office and a breakout of sweat on Russell Jackson's top lip.

His brain reminded him then of something important, and he got it a second later. Now he understood the urgency. No doubt he had instantly developed a sweat moustache to match that of his Chief of Staff. Acid rolled in his gut. "Bess is there."

"Yes, sir. And Henry."

"Do we know if-?"

Russell cut him off before he could complete the question. "No information, Mr President."

Not good enough. "Get some information. Fast."

Russell didn't bother to reply. The speed with which he left the room in the direction of his own office and an international phone line was answer enough.

* * *

At the sound of the gunshot, Henry used his grip on Elizabeth's arms to haul her back from the doorway and into the stairwell. They didn't have long. Now that Zembrovko was dead – _Zembrovko was dead –_ it was likely that things would move fast.

Henry could hear Kodalov saying something in the corridor, and it sounded like he was closer than before.

Yeah, definitely time to move.

Once they were in the stairwell, Henry took Elizabeth's hand and they started down the stairs towards the exit, moving fast. He could feel her hand shaking in his and couldn't decide whether it was down to the fear or the adrenaline.

Probably both. He was certainly feeling both.

So that was how you execute a coup. Huh.

They reached a small landing and rounded the corner to continue down the final flight of stairs, almost there. Once they reached the door it would only be a few metres to the car, where at least some of Elizabeth's DS agents would hopefully be waiting for them.

He was so focused on the exit, on getting down the stairs before they could be noticed by Kodalov, that he didn't notice the door on the small landing until it was way too late, when it had already been pushed open and a man barrelled through and shouted when he saw them poised to descend the final flight of stairs to escape.

There was no time to react as a hand darted out and caught Henry's arm in a death grip. Panic flooded his veins and he turned his head to Elizabeth with the intention of telling her to run for it, but the man from the door reached out and instilled a grip on her arm, too. She sucked in a harsh breath at the unexpected contact and it caused Henry's fight instinct to kick into overdrive.

 _Oh, no, you don't_.

With a shout, he wrenched his arm from the tight hold and whirled around to face the man.


	4. Chapter 4

You lovely lot continue to make my week. This is just the best fandom. Thank you so much for all the support so far for this bonkers little story. I hope you continue to enjoy x

Also I made it to tumblr! I'm over there as morethanwords229 if you feel like saying hi :)

 **Chapter Four**

Henry had reared his arm back with the intention of throwing a swift, cruel punch at their attacker's throat, but his growing momentum jerked to a sudden stop when Elizabeth exclaimed, "Matt!"

He looked at the other man's face for the first time and took in the familiar features. Elizabeth was right. Not someone attacking them, then. Someone who could help them. _Thank God._ Henry let his arm drop, but the tension didn't leave him. Being reunited with the Diplomatic Security agent was good, but they weren't yet clear from danger. "It's good to see you," Henry said with relief. At least he would be spared from having to beat a man to a pulp.

"You too, Dr McCord," Matt said. "Madam Secretary. It's time to move."

"Way ahead of you, Matt," Elizabeth answered. Then she reached out to take the DS agent's elbow, pulling him closer to her and peering at him in concern. "Your shoulder."

Henry followed her gaze. There was blood coming from high up on the man's left shoulder, staining his white dress shirt with splotches of dark crimson. "You were hit?"

"By shattering glass not a bullet. I'm OK. Don't worry about it."

Elizabeth was reaching up and trying to pull back Matt's shirt to get a better look. "Too late," she told him.

"Ma'am, there's no time." The man's voice was stern and left no room for argument. "We have to go. Frank and Kev are waiting in the car."

Henry was all too aware that they had arrived that evening with more men than that.

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Elizabeth said, similarly authoritative.

"We won't. But our priority now is to get you in the car." He stepped forward like he wouldn't be against picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder to carry her down the stairs if that was what it took to make her move.

Henry understood the feeling, because he was experiencing it himself. "Zembrovko is dead, did you know that?" he asked the DS agent.

From the way that the man's face blanched, it was clear that it was news to him. "Christ," he muttered, and that was as close to an emotional outburst as Henry had ever seen from the man who usually kept his cool no matter what. "Move." He took Elizabeth's arm again with one hand while drawing his gun with the other and took a step towards the stairs.

A voice came from above. "Leaving so soon?"

Henry's heart slammed in his chest. He shot his arm out with the intention of pushing Elizabeth behind him but she caught his elbow and came to stand at his side instead. She shot him a look that suggested chivalry would not currently be appreciated. He got it. He did. She was the one paid to be the diplomat, to speak on behalf of the United States, not him. But how the hell was he supposed to stand down his protective instincts when the building was under siege and there was no way in the universe the timing was a coincidence? When it was highly likely someone viewed his wife as either a trophy kill or a prize to bag?

As soon as the voice had finished speaking, Matt put himself in front of Henry and Elizabeth, gun aimed in the direction it had come from. He turned his head briefly back to them. "Get down the stairs now," he ordered.

They didn't have time to comply or disobey because that was when Gleb Kodalov came into view, casually walking down the stairs towards them like he hadn't just himself murdered at least one person, probably two, and taken a presidency by force. He was followed by three guys dressed in black – just like the ones who had originally stormed the ballroom. From the look of them, what they wore and the way they held themselves, Henry would guess that they were Special Forces. Highly competent, highly trained. The elite of the military. Not good.

Elizabeth spoke up to answer Kodalov and her tone was impressively light when she said, "Well, you know, the evening started well, but in the end the hospitality has been a little disappointing."

Kodalov laughed, slicking his gelled hair back from his face.

Henry had heard a lot about the various members of the government of Petria that Elizabeth had been meeting with over the past few days, much of her assessment unfavourable, but she had reserved the greatest disdain for the man currently in front of them. How had she described him? Slimy, that was it. She had cast around for several seconds to find the right word and in the end the best one had been a simple one.

On only a few seconds' acquaintance, Henry thought that the description was apt. Kodalov was slimy. And a murderer. And guilty of treason. And he was staring at Elizabeth with something akin to glee in his expression. Henry flicked his gaze to Matt, watched the DS agent evaluating the situation, calculating the merits of making a break for it down the stairs and concluding that sudden movements were probably unwise given the three foreign security guys in front of them with guns much bigger than his own. Henry slid his hand into Elizabeth's, feeling the urgent need to hold onto her.

Her fingers flexed around his, squeezing tightly although her face looked completely calm as she watched Kodalov on the steps above them. "What are you doing, Gleb?" she asked.

Kodalov tutted like he might at an errant child. "That would be Mr President, Madam Secretary."

"You're not the president."

Grief – fake, but convincing – coloured his face. "Didn't you hear? Artur is dead."

Did he know that they had seen him pull the trigger? Henry thought that maybe he was unaware of the fact, and thought it might be best if it stayed that way.

Apparently Elizabeth assessed it differently. "I know he is. You killed him."

Henry held his breath. _Elizabeth, dial it back_. He thought he understood what she was doing. The man in front of them had no legitimacy. Making him feel credible by cowering before him was obviously not ideal, but Henry thought it might keep them alive. But antagonising him – outright accusing him as Elizabeth was – surely couldn't help. Surely there was no way he would let them leave alive knowing that he had been the one to kill Zembrovko.

"You look worried, professor," Kodalov said, flicking his gaze over to Henry briefly before looking back at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth tensed beside him. "You won't succeed, you know."

"Ah, but Madam Secretary. You haven't seen the streets."

What was happening on the streets? Fresh concern flooded through Henry. With so many hostile resources directed at the presidential palace, he hadn't even given thought to what might be happening outside on the streets. Suddenly the problem of getting out of the building and back to the car seemed relatively simply given the prospect of unrest – something worse? - on the streets.

"You have no legitimacy," Elizabeth said, apparently taking a gamble that Kodalov would choose not to shoot her, perhaps on the grounds that Conrad Dalton would be liable to invade the country with extreme and brutal urgency if he did.

There was also the fact that Henry would murder him without hesitation if he tried to lay so much as a hand on his wife.

What Kodalov said next made Henry's blood run cold.

"No, Madam Secretary, that would be you. I have to inform you of a change in the relationship between our two countries now that I am in power." He came down the last two steps to stand on the little landing with them, not at all intimidated by Matt pointing a gun at his chest and holding up one hand to push him back when he tried to step around the DS agent.

Henry took a step forward, putting himself just in front of Elizabeth. She'd just have to deal with his chivalry.

Elizabeth lifted her chin, defiant. "Oh?" She sounded like she cared hardly at all, although Henry knew better. He could feel the slight tremble in her hand as he held it tightly in his.

"Yes," Kodalov said. "As of now you are no longer welcome here. You are hereby persona non grata under Article 9 of the Vienna Convention. You and your delegation."

Henry got now why Kodalov hadn't bothered to shoot them. After all, why murder a foreign diplomat when you could just take away their protected status and leave them to take their chances in the middle of a violent coup in a country that was often sceptical of their aims at best and unashamedly hostile at worst? And now the hostile forces had a new champion, who had installed himself as their president victorious.

"You have no grounds," Elizabeth said and then, as though it was part of the same sentence, a natural follow-on, "You'll be dead within a week." She looked away from the man, finished with him. "Goodbye, Mr Kodalov."

She turned her back on him, taking Henry with her as she started down the stairs.

Elizabeth, ever the consummate professional, managed to look straight ahead during the descent, seemingly not even curious whether Kodalov and his guards might be about to unexpectedly shoot them in the back. Henry, his too-recent lively adventure in Pakistan still close to the surface, couldn't help but look back, needing to be aware of the whole terrain.

Kodalov's guards did indeed have their guns pointed at them as they left, and Matt had his own gun aimed at the guards as he descended the stairs sideways on to provide cover to Henry and Elizabeth in front of him. But it was the image of Kodalov himself that Henry would remember long after he had disappeared from view.

The self-anointed president was smiling as he watched them go, his face chillingly controlled and his gaze intently fixed to the back of Elizabeth's head until finally she left his sight.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you once again for all the brilliant support. I hope this chapter is OK!

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

She thought if not for Henry at her side and his hand holding hers securely, she might have fallen apart.

Elizabeth wasn't sure which problem she should be focusing on. The political aspect of the coup or the bloody massacre in the ballroom? The background motives or the situation as it was happening? Kodalov as a political agent or the wider picture that he fit into? The fact he had declared her persona non grata or his shaky legal grounds for doing so? Legal grounds that he hadn't bothered to articulate and, given the high number of guns in the vicinity, she hadn't wanted to stick around to hear.

No.

None of those things, at least not now, not yet.

First she had to focus on Henry, on getting him out.

However willingly – enthusiastically – he had come with her to Petria, had in fact suggested it himself, this mess was her responsibility to sort out. Anything that happened to him was on her.

They were still just getting their balance back after the past shaky year when at times she had been terrified that everything they had built together was about to fall apart, and she couldn't have _anything_ knock them off course when they were just getting back to solid ground. She just couldn't risk it. There was no way she could lose Henry.

And so she forced herself to put all of the rest of it out of her mind until they were safe. She gripped his hand a little tighter and shifted closer so that she could walk with her side pressed up against his.

They were three steps away from the bottom of the staircase that would take them to the exit and the car where her agents waited.

Some of her agents, at least. The others were still unaccounted for, and that was a cause for concern, as well as a reminder of those hours in Iran just after Minister Javani's house had been attacked and she had been separated from her detail and she had been wracked with fear for the situation and so much guilt that they were in trouble because of her. And that reminded her –

"My staff." Elizabeth stopped on the bottom step and turned to Matt, who was on the step behind and still looking back up at Kodalov and his men as they stood watching them leave.

"We have to keep moving, Ma'am." It was clear Matt hadn't heard what she'd said, that he was just trying to get them out as fast as possible.

Henry lifted his free hand to hold her arm and she thought he was about to urge her to keep moving, to get out. He didn't. "I didn't see them in the ballroom," he said. "Did you?"

She thought back, tried to remember when she had last seen Daisy and Jay who had come along on the trip – Jay to deal with the policy discussions and Daisy to keep the media in a reasonable mood, and to keep her sane while Henry was off looking at churches. She couldn't remember. They had been in a different car on the way to the palace, she remembered that much. She closed her eyes and tried to think, aware of the growing aura of stress and urgency around Matt the longer they were delayed. Dinner… they had been at the small dinner that President Zembrovko had held before the main reception started. And then…

"They went to make a call," she said. She remembered now. What was supposed to be a friendly dinner for the cameras had turned into a policy dispute over the presence in Petria of the giant US-owned clean energy plant, and Jay had wanted to review the environmental impact report to check a claim made against it by one of Zembrovko's advisors. Daisy had gone with him because Jay couldn't remember how to get back to the small office they had been allocated during their visit to the palace. "At the end of dinner. I haven't seen them since then."

Suddenly finding them became the most urgent thing. They couldn't leave them behind. They _couldn't_. Elizabeth turned back to the flight of stairs they had just descended with the intention of racing back up to find her team, no matter what. Her eyes locked on Kodalov, still standing at the top of the stairs and looking at her with the same cool, creepy smile he had maintained throughout all of their meetings over the past few days. He cocked his head in interest at her move.

Matt stepped in and blocked her line of sight. "We'll come back for them," he told her.

She wanted to protest, but Matt was in front of her and Henry was at her side and there was no way around them and even if there was, she knew it would be stupid to take it. She just felt so damn useless. And guilty, because she was so relieved that she had managed to stay with Henry, because if he had been missing there would be absolutely no way she could stomach the thought of leaving without him.

Logically, she knew the wisest course of action was to get to the car, where they could formulate a plan to get them – all of them – to safety. But still.

She felt like she was leaving Daisy and Jay behind to die.

Henry stepped down from the last stair, taking her with him as he did. She followed, resigned to the fact that, for now, there was nothing they could do. At the bottom of the stairs, Matt stepped in front of them so he could open the door that led to outside and the service road where they had left the cars. He cast a glance back up the stairs to check the position of Kodalov and his men.

Elizabeth wasn't worried that they would shoot. They had nothing to gain from it and besides, Gleb Kodalov was a man who liked a game and what better game than taking away the diplomatic status of the American Secretary of State and sending her off into the middle of a restless coup? That would be way more fun for him than simply putting a bullet in her back, although really she thought that it amounted to the same thing.

With a deep breath and his gun poised ready in case he should need it, Matt pushed open the door.

* * *

"How can there be no information?" Russell Jackson held his phone with a grip so tight it could have snapped a man's wrist. He wished that he was holding a man's wrist. Specifically, the wrist of the Director of the CIA, who was on the other end of the phone line.

"It's not being reported," the Director answered, in response to why the CIA had so little information about whatever was going on in Petria.

All they knew about the situation had come through one of Elizabeth's Diplomatic Security guys, who had been in the middle of calling his Stateside supervisor to give a routine update on their flight plans for later that night when there had been the sound of gunshots and shouting and then the guy had sworn loudly and said something along the lines of _shit, we're being attacked_ before the line had gone abruptly dead. Apparently the CIA had found out about the attack from the head of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, who had called when he had been unable to get back in touch with his agents by phone and, when he called the main line of the presidential palace in Rusapol, found that it had been disconnected. So after consulting with Elizabeth's chief of staff, the Diplomatic Security man had instead called the CIA to see if the nation's premier international intelligence gathering organisation had any intelligence as to what was going on, only to be told that they did not. Which was when Nadine Tolliver called Russell.

It seemed that the CIA had learned nothing new in the intervening forty-five minutes, either.

Russell would have been apoplectic at the response of the Director if he was not so discombobulated by the answer. "It's not being _reported_?" he repeated at a volume several times louder than the other man had used. "The reason the CIA doesn't know what's going on in the Petrian capital is because it isn't live on CNN?"

"We don't have many assets in the region, sir."

Unbelievable. "But you have some, right? I mean the country has a land border with both Ukraine and Russia, it's not like we've just left it alone. Right? You have some assets there." They had to have some assets there. "Or should I just go on Twitter to see what's happening?" The question was serious, although unnecessary. He already had the Twitter live-feed open on his computer.

#RusapolAttack.

The reply from the CIA Director was slightly testy. "We have some assets in the capital, Mr Jackson. Our officers are reaching out to them now."

"No, no, no. Don't _reach out_ to them. Reaching out is too polite. We don't have time for polite, see. We need intelligence now. So get in there and smack some heads together or I'll come and do it for you." Russell hung up before the Director could come up with a reply, dropping the phone back into its cradle before immediately snatching it back up.

He dialled Nadine Tolliver at the State Department to see if she'd had better luck with her sources.

* * *

The car, thank God, was still there where they had left it, and appeared to be untouched.

Kev the driver was behind the wheel but Frank was outside the passenger door, gun drawn and pointed at the palace side door, ready to shoot, on edge. There was sweat on his brow. He lowered the gun as soon as he saw Matt come through the door, ushering Elizabeth and Henry along with him.

No words were exchanged as Matt opened the back door of the car and gestured for them to climb in, standing right behind them so there was no choice but to comply. Elizabeth got in, followed closely by Henry. As soon as they were inside, they reached for each other simultaneously.

Henry's arms tight around her like a vice made her feel the tiniest bit better even as she was aware of Matt climbing into the back seat with them and leaning over to talk quietly with Frank and Kev in the front, his voice earnest, no doubt telling them about the missing members of their party. Elizabeth tightened her grip on Henry, resting her forehead against his shoulder and feeling the slight pulse just above her eye where she had bumped her head on the marble dancefloor.

"It's OK," Henry whispered in her ear. "It's OK."

It really wasn't OK, not at all, but it sounded to her like he was trying to help himself keep it together more than anything. She lifted her head and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin and then he turned his face down to kiss her lips, his touch desperate and urgent, hands tangling in her hair, sliding over the silk of her gown.

He pulled back only when, in the driver's seat, Kev put his foot down on the accelerator and said, "Better buckle up. This might not be pretty."

As soon as they turned off the service road and onto the private road that led away from the palace, down to one of the city's main promenades, Elizabeth saw that he was right. The dread started up in her gut once again, as did the adrenaline, which had never really waned.

"Oh, my God."

They looked to be facing a gauntlet.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you, as ever, for all the wonderful support for this story and especially to those of you on tumblr who talked me down off a bit of a ledge lol. Today we have a little history lesson about our fake country and continue the experiment into how mad I can make this fic before the wheels come fully off the wagon. Enjoy!

Oh, there is also a swear word so, um, beware. Haha.

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

Rusapol, the capital of Petria, was a beautiful city. It benefitted from a rich past that had led to the creation of plenty of fine buildings and lush open spaces, before the country's experience of Soviet rule in the twentieth century robbed it of its independence – both political and financial. That regime had been gone for thirty years now, but the country had never quite managed to recover. Yet the beauty remained.

Or, at least, it had.

It was astonishing, Elizabeth thought, how fast a landscape could change.

On the drive to the presidential palace earlier that evening, Rusapol's streets, lined with eclectic coloured buildings, had been beautiful, if a little haunting with the echo of so much history and the lingering scars of communism. Now, in the light of the coup that was underway, they appeared completely altered.

The central promenade leading away from the palace and into the government district was thronged with people chanting angry slogans and lit by flaming torches, the effect in the night-darkened streets terrifying. The protest had been there earlier, but it had been peaceful and measured and backed by daylight and no one had just shot the President in cold blood.

Now there was an undercurrent of threat running through the gatherings, the mood of the protest having darkened with the loss of the light.

Did they know that Zembrovko was dead? Surely the news could not yet have broken, not when there was still so much chaos inside the palace.

As the car approached the palace gates, Elizabeth clutched Henry's hand tighter. She had been focusing so hard on getting them out of the building intact that she had hardly stopped to consider what waited for them on the other side. Gleb Kodalov's warning about the streets had been apt.

Something occurred to Elizabeth as the car sat idling a little way back from the main street, tucked just out of sight from the people on the other side of the low wall that ran around the perimeter of the President's residence. Kodalov had been in the palace the whole evening. He had been there for the press photos and for dinner, and the reception in the ballroom. She had felt him watching her on several occasions. Plus, once the guns had started going off, there would have been no opportunity for him to leave before he murdered Zembrovko.

So how had he known about the mood on the streets?

"They're so young," Henry said, catching her attention.

"Hmm?"

"Not all of them, but a lot of them are really young." He was looking at the people in front of them.

Elizabeth followed his gaze. "Yeah."

Kodalov seemed to be under the impression that he had the support of the people on the streets, otherwise he would never have mentioned them. He had planned this, but how?

She wanted to mull it over, her mind racing as she worked to deduce how the man had pulled off such a big and violent coup so suddenly without anyone suspecting – anyone including, she supposed, the United States, seeing as she had been clueless until the moment it happened, and no one from home had called to warn her of an imminent threat. How had he done it?

She wanted to think it through, but there was a more immediate problem.

Her attention was caught by her DS guys engaged in a whispered, heated exchange. "Guys?" she prompted.

They stopped talking and looked at each other as though daring each other to be the one to speak.

OK then. So that probably meant it wasn't good news.

"What's going on?" she asked Frank, picking him to be the most likely to just tell it to her straight.

"We need to identify a destination," he said.

Oh. She had thought they already had one. "Our options being?"

"Ideally we'd like to go to the airport, get you straight on the plane and in the air."

She shook her head. "No." She wasn't leaving while her staff were still missing.

"Elizabeth," Henry protested, "we can't stay here."

Frustration flared within her. She wanted to say to him that _he_ had stayed. Not that long ago when he was in Pakistan, he'd had the option of getting out safely and leaving his team behind, and he hadn't taken it. She had been crushed when she realised what he had done, had thought for a time that she might have lost him for good, but she got the rationale of the decision. He couldn't leave his team to fight their fight without him. And he couldn't take that choice away from her, either. Yet she said nothing. It was nowhere near the time to be rehashing old arguments, and that was one argument it would probably never be time to revisit, the chance of causing lasting hurt and deepening barely-healed wounds too great. "I know," she said eventually, measuredly.

Frank winced. "The trouble is, Ma'am, we don't know what terrain we're facing. Communications are patchy and we can't get a read on what's ahead. And given the distance to the airport –"

Set just outside the main conurbation of the capital, it had to be at least a forty-five minute drive to Rusapol International, probably more given what they were facing. "It's too risky," she said.

"Right."

"The embassy, then." They had driven from their accommodation in the chancery to the palace earlier in just over seven minutes. She thought that they could manage seven minutes without getting killed.

Frank hesitated before answering. "Yes, Ma'am. But we have to make you aware –"

"That it's likely to be a target," she cut him off. There had been groups of protestors outside the embassy throughout her visit, protesting the US-owned energy plant. The current circumstances suggested that the protest could easily escalate, especially once word got out about the forced change of command.

"Correct."

"It also has resources that we can use," she said. She hadn't forgotten that Kodalov had declared her persona non grata. Her and her party, and that included Henry and her DS agents, but hopefully not the main US mission presence. The only support they'd get would be from their embassy. Outside the chancery building they were on their own.

Besides, with the airport off-limits and any allies she may have had in the government dead or unreachable, they had nowhere else to go.

She was aware of Henry sitting still and quiet beside her. She turned to face him, saw the worry lining his face. "Henry?"

He looked at her and gave her a tremulous smile. "The embassy," he said. "Until we can formulate a plan to get out to the airport. Hopefully the communication channels will be working so we can call home."

From the look on his face she knew that by _home_ , he meant their government and not their kids. Elizabeth was trying very hard not to think about their kids. If she thought about them then it would all just be so much worse. This wasn't something for them to be a part of, but they were the main reason she was so desperate for it to be over. It was clear that Henry felt the same, although he couldn't hide the flicker of desperation in his eyes or in his touch as he gripped Elizabeth's knee with the hand that wasn't holding hers.

"The embassy?" Frank said, looking at everyone in the car in turn and receiving nods from all of them.

That was good. Her DS agents were tasked with protecting her, and that meant taking her to a place of safety even if it went against her wishes. In a situation with no ideal safe place to go to, Elizabeth felt it was important they all agreed on the destination; she didn't want her agents to feel they were taking an avoidable risk just because she didn't like the other options. They all had to be in it together.

"Let's go," she said.

Kev the driver put the car back into gear and pulled out into the road, passing the security check point – abandoned – and then the wall that surrounded the palace before entering the main promenade. The only other cars on the road were unattended. They were surrounded by people. The windows of the car were bulletproof and allegedly soundproof, but the noise from outside was deafening.

Bodies pressed against the car as they made their way slowly through the crush. Elizabeth could feel the stares of the people on the streets, although she knew they couldn't see in through the tinted glass. No doubt they would recognise the diplomatic plates for what they were, but Frank had thoughtfully removed the small American flag the car usually sported and hopefully the European-made car would look a little more at home on Rusapol's streets than the US model she usually travelled in. For once in her life she thanked whatever bureaucracy meant that importing American-made cars into this part of the world just wasn't worth the hassle.

"Fuck," Henry said suddenly, loudly, leaning over Elizabeth to get a better look out of the window as they approached the end of the promenade and the right-hand turn that would take them towards their embassy.

The swear on his lips was so rare and out of character for him that it startled her and stirred up the dread that had been lying low in her gut, sending it sliding anew through her veins. She looked up at his face as he pressed into her so he could better see out of the window. "Henry, what is it?" She pressed one hand to his chest to get his attention and felt his heart beating heavily.

He pulled back slightly so she could twist in her seat and see what he was looking at.

On the corner of the road, a tank.

In the middle of the road to the left, a smaller armoured vehicle.

Standing all around the vehicles, men dressed in black and wearing helmets and Kevlar vests and holding sleek, high-grade automatic rifles – just like the gunmen in the ballroom.

Kodalov's army.

They were looking at the approaching car with interest.

Yeah, she thought that Henry had it about right.

 _Fuck._


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you thank you thank you for all the wonderful comments and to everyone reading this. You are all excellent.

Um. I am not cool. This will become apparent within the first two lines of this chapter. I also know nothing about helicopters. This may also become apparent haha. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 _How to Get Your Eyeliner Perfect Every Time – Fast!_

 _The Best Dresses for Fall_

 _President Dalton in crunch re-election talks_

 _17 60s Mini Skirts That are SO 2016_

 _Rumours of unrest during McCord power plant visit; protest in Petrian capital – live updates!_

Alison McCord abruptly stopped her casual scroll through her online feed, ignoring all the articles on fashion and makeup tips and instead clicking onto the link that referenced her mother.

She quickly scanned the first few lines about the power plant protests. Apparently people in Petria were upset about an American company investing in their country because it was an affront to their sovereignty.

Because poverty and unemployment were so much better, right?

Alison rolled her eyes; it seemed to be just another dumb protest of the kind that seemed to follow her mother around wherever she went. Just part of the job. Not a great part of the job, admittedly. It sucked having her mom talked about in the press like that, with quotes from people who hated her just because of the job she held. Alison knew it was pointless to take it personally… but she totally did. And she knew her mom did too.

There was a link at the bottom of the article to another, trashier article, about her mom's visit to Petria. Specifically an article on the outfits she had worn to visit the power plant that was the reason for her visit, and to her meetings with various members of the government and community groups. _Now with updates from the presidential reception!_

Oh, that might be worth a look. Her mom had acquired some good formalwear as part of her job and she'd be lying if she said she didn't covet some of it.

Alison clicked on the link to find pictures of her parents arriving at the presidential palace in Rusapol. Her mom looked amazing in her smoky blue dress with the close-fitting bodice, sweeping knee-length skirt and sweetheart neckline, and her dad's matching cravat was so cute, if a little nauseating. He had obviously chosen it especially. But they looked so happy, posing together for a picture inside the palace.

She missed them. It had only been a few days, but it was tough with both of them being gone at the same time.

At least this time there had been no lies about what either of them was doing. Sometimes she thought her parents thought she and Jason and Stevie were stupid, giving them excuses about conferences and routine diplomatic ventures when they all knew perfectly well they were off doing something dangerous and covert.

At least the visit to Petria was…

Something caught Alison's attention.

A link just beneath the picture of her parents with their big smiles and eveningwear. _Gunshots, explosions in Petrian palace,_ read the text. _Reports of violence in Petrian capital of Rusapol_.

Alison clicked the link. She read the scant text there that spoke of rumoured gunshots and explosions from within the palace where her parents were due to be for a reception on their last night. She felt panic start to build but squashed it down.

Not enough information. She needed more details before deciding whether it was a situation worthy of panicking.

She clicked onto Twitter. Scanned the worldwide trending topics.

The top trend: #rusapolattack.

She clicked it. Read for a minute.

Yeah, she figured that panic was just about the right response. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her mouth was dry. Her stomach rolled. She called out urgently: "Stevie!"

* * *

In the driver's seat of the car, Kev the DS agent hesitated for a moment at the turning that led back towards the embassy. He flicked his gaze between the tank and guys in bulletproof vests to their left, and the protestors that lined the street behind them. Then he looked right, which was the way to the embassy. There was a bend not far after the turn, making it impossible to see what lay ahead.

While he hesitated, Henry kept his eyes on the men with the tank, and kept his arms around his wife.

The Special Forces guys with the tank and the armoured vehicle – it was almost like they knew to expect them. The roadblock was very deliberately on the left side of the road, while the right side was practically a straight run back to the US embassy.

Elizabeth's visit to Petria had been well-publicised in both the US and Petrian press, and her presence had been high-profile throughout the trip. It was surely not a coincidence that those men had chosen to place their tank exactly where it was. They had to be aware that she'd be likely to head for her embassy and, if they were loyal to Kodalov, it would be easy for them to identify her car. His security guys were probably keeping them updated and at any rate, the diplomatic plates and their direction of travel were a dead giveaway as to their destination. It was almost like they were blocking off all other routes than the one that led to the embassy. The question was whether they were trying to be helpful to their American guests, or whether they were ushering them into a trap.

Somehow Henry doubted that they were helping them out. The best they could hope for was that it was just a show of strength. Something to intimidate but nothing more sinister than that.

"OK," Kev said from the front seat, seemingly talking to himself. "So I'm just gonna…" With one last nervous look at the tank and the street behind them lined with fervent protestors, he turned the car to the right and put his foot down on the accelerator.

* * *

Three days ago, Elizabeth had met Minister Gleb Kodalov in person for the first time.

During almost two years of occasional phone calls and video appointments, she had always found the man hard to pin down beyond being something of a slightly sleazy cliché. It was obvious from the beginning that he had ambition – and plenty of friends locally to help support that ambition – but he had never given any indication of wanting to depose President Zembrovko.

It was only when she finally met him on her first morning in Petria that she learned of the recent falling-out between the two men.

 _After the initial formal greeting at the door of the foreign ministry – and the handshake Elizabeth opted for becoming awkward when Kodalov went instead for a cheek kiss and, oh great, no doubt pictures of that would be on the internet soon enough – they had repaired to Kodalov's private office for talks._

 _As soon as the door was shut behind them, the polite small talk they had sustained through the corridors of the building gave way to an atmosphere that Elizabeth found slightly uneasy._

 _Kodalov glanced around at her as he poured coffee for them both. "I saw that you were present when Maria Ostrova was killed."_

 _It sounded like a casual remark, but the topic was anything but, and she didn't know the man well enough to gauge what he meant by it. "Yes," she confirmed, and then left it there, because Kodalov wasn't one of her friends. With some of her counterparts in other countries she might have felt compelled to expand, might not have minded talking about the subject because she knew that they would only be mentioning it out of sympathy and they were on the same side._

 _But in Petria, given its location and its considerable factions still loyal to Russia, she needed to tread more carefully – especially when it seemed like Kodalov was about to reveal which faction he fell into, something she had never been able to properly pin down from his nebulous answers during their phone conversations._

 _"_ _Her death was a great shame," he said, turning to lean against his desk and look down at where Elizabeth sat on a small sofa. "She was a strong leader."_

 _Elizabeth accepted a cup of coffee from him but neglected to respond to his comment. So it seemed Kodalov had sympathies with Russia. That would explain his noticeable silence on the topic of Russian aggression in next-door Ukraine, something that he should have been very vocal about given that Petria was politically and militarily weaker than Ukraine, and likely to be next on Moscow's absorption list._

 _"_ _Don't you agree?" Kodalov asked, moving to settle himself next to her, his eyes watching her intently like he was trying to read her reaction before she could speak it. "You should," he went on before she could say anything. "After all, she inspired you to leave early her husband's funeral, did she not?"_

 _That was not something she liked to be reminded of, that awful, embarrassing incident when Maria Ostrov had stood up on the world stage and spoken against Elizabeth while she was sitting watching in the audience. "President Zembrovko didn't get along with her," Elizabeth said, smiling coolly and diverting the topic of conversation away from her own unpleasant memories. She let the statement hang there, seeing if Kodalov would take the bait._

 _He tilted his head, an annoying habit she had noticed in almost every video call they'd had. No doubt he meant to look thoughtful, but it came across as patronising. "That is true," Kodalov said. "I will admit, Madam Secretary, it was a cause of some disagreement between us."_

 _In diplomatic terms, admitting to a 'disagreement' with his head of state meant that in reality they were probably engaged in openly hostile combat over the issue._

 _"_ _You must have topics on which you and your President Dalton do not agree, I assume?"_

 _Elizabeth forced a laugh. "Oh, we were very much in agreement on the issue of Maria Ostrov."_

 _Mostly. At least Kodalov didn't know about what had happened with Dmitri._

She had been surprised to discover the disparity in views between the president and his foreign minister on such a crucial issue for the government – perhaps the most vital aspect of the country's foreign policy. President Zembrovko had always been outspoken on the issue of sovereignty for Petria; he was of the generation that had lived through Soviet rule and would not stomach the thought of ever returning to anything like that era.

Maybe that was it, Elizabeth thought as the car turned right and drove towards the US embassy, leaving the tank and the protestors behind. Maybe that disagreement over Russia was what had prompted Kodalov to turn against his president so violently and absolutely.

But then why not wait? Petria was due elections in a little over a year, and Artur Zembrovko was not eligible to stand again for the presidency. Kodalov could have used the opportunity to launch his own bid for the highest office in the land. All he had to do was bide his time for a few more months.

There had to be an explanation.

Elizabeth couldn't figure it out, and she was pulled from her attempts at trying by the car slowing down as it approached the embassy gates.

"Damn," Frank said from the front passenger seat.

Protestors stood outside the embassy, blocking their path to the gates.

 _No, no, no._ They had to get inside the embassy. There was no other option; until they knew that they could safely get to the airport, they had nowhere else to go.

The group of people standing in front of the gates had noticed the car. They were chanting something, although Elizabeth couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Lights swept over the car from overhead and a low, throbbing churning noise started up. A helicopter. She could _feel_ the noise pounding through her and adjusted her grip on Henry's hand, needing the touch to anchor her. She craned her neck to try and peer up and out of the window, only to be pulled abruptly back by Matt.

"Stay back from the glass," he ordered, looking nervously out at the protestors.

"If this is the bit where you tell me to get down on the floor to hide, you can think again," she said, hoping to lighten the mood a little. She smoothed her free hand over the silk of her skirt. "This dress is rented. I can't take it back creased."

She turned to look at Henry as he sat at her side, one hand holding hers and the other on her knee. He was looking up at the roof of the car, concentrating on something.

"Henry?"

"It sounds like an Apache."

"The helicopter?"

He nodded. "Yes. But it's not quite the right noise. It's something else. If I had to guess I'd say that helicopter is a Mi-24."

Elizabeth wracked her brains for her small store of knowledge on helicopters, most of it given to her at one time or another by Henry and his professional and personal enthusiasm on the subject. "That's Russian-made, right?"

"It is," he confirmed.

That wasn't right. Since it regained its independence thirty years ago, Petria had signed military arms and hardware deals with the US, the French and the British – and very deliberately _not_ the Russians. "Petria hasn't had any new military equipment from Russia since the 1970s."

Two possibilities. The first a little better than the second. Either it was an old helicopter still in service under the Petrian flag, or else it was a foreign-owned helicopter, which meant that the probability was high that the Russian air force was in the skies over Rusapol.

Elizabeth knew which option she preferred. "Please, please tell me you can tell how old it is just by hearing it?"

Henry shook his head. "Sorry, babe. Not without seeing it."

"Well, you're not getting out there to look."

"Believe me when I say I'm grateful for that." The worry on Henry's face was unmissable even in the dim light of the car, and the strobing light from the helicopter brought it into stark relief. There was no way through the crowd of protestors, who didn't seem to be inclined to move any time soon. They couldn't idle for long; it wasn't safe to stay still on the streets.

In the front seat, Frank was on the radio talking to the staff inside the embassy. "Can you meet us at the back?" he asked whoever was on the radio.

There was static for a moment and then a woman's voice on the line. "Affirmative. You'll need to move quickly. There's not much cover."

Frank nodded to Kev in the driver's seat and, without warning, he yanked the steering wheel to the right at the same time as flooring it on the accelerator, forcing Elizabeth back into her seat and knocking Henry into her, his back against her chest. His elbow collided with her rib cage and his weight pressed down heavily on her for a moment before he was able to brace himself. "Sorry," he breathed.

Elizabeth slid her arms around him to help steady him, her palm over his sternum to feel the rapid beat of his heart. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear as the car took another sharp turn fast, taking them round the roads to the back entrance of the embassy. "It's all right," she said to Henry, quiet enough that no one else could hear. "It's going to be fine."

He turned to look back at her and their eyes locked. She could see he was trying really hard to believe her. So was she. The helicopter was still circling lowly overhead. "Of course it is," Henry said.

She nodded.

The car jerked to a stop in line with the embassy's back door where deliveries – and not the Secretary of State – were usually received. The door was opened from the inside by one of the embassy security staff.

"Home sweet home," Matt said, pulling out his gun ready to cover them in case they should need it during the few steps between the car and the building. "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

What had happened to their lives, Elizabeth wondered, that had somehow led them to this? Waiting in the back of a car while her security agents checked to make sure it was safe for her and Henry to come out. Yeah, something weird had happened somewhere along the line.

She was pretty sure it could be blamed on Conrad, and planned to tell him so at the first opportunity.

"We're clear. Madam Secretary, Dr McCord, if you could leave the vehicle and move briskly into the embassy, it would be appreciated." Matt stood on one side of the open back door of the car, Frank on the other. Kev remained in the driver's seat until all his passengers were safely inside.

Keeping Henry's hand in hers, Elizabeth shuffled out of the car. "You know, technically the building is the chancery," she said. "The staff forms the embassy."

"Noted, Ma'am," Matt said drily, reaching out to take her arm and help her step out of the car.

It wasn't something he usually did, but she supposed it could be forgiven in the circumstances. Also as soon as she stepped onto the ground and stood fully upright, the bump on her forehead pulsed uncomfortably, sending her dizzy and swaying back against Henry's chest as he stepped behind her. "Babe?" he questioned.

She pressed the hand not caught up in Henry's to her forehead, feeling the light-headedness slowly abate. "Fine," she said.

"Let's go, Ma'am," Matt said, keeping hold of her arm and hustling her and Henry towards the door.

Elizabeth stumbled along after him, blinking rapidly to try and clear her head. Standing up so abruptly after sitting for a while had thrown her off. Damn, it was only a tiny bump on the head; she should hardly even notice it. Then again, she supposed, coupled with the stress of the situation, her blood pressure was probably doing all sorts of weird things. She was grateful when Henry dropped her hand to wrap his arm around her so she could lean into his side, helping her feel more centred and righting her balance as they came abreast of the door. She could practically feel the concern radiating off him and wanted to take the time to reassure him that she was fine, but that would have to come later.

They stepped inside the building with her DS agents close behind them and then the door was closed and locked by one of the embassy security staff. Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief.

The relief lingered even as she realised she could still hear the activity going on outside. "Damn, it's good to be back. Even if this place hasn't been redecorated since 1972." To say that the interior of the chancery building could use a little updating in some places was an understatement. She was pretty sure it dated back to communism.

"Hey, don't knock our interior design, Madam Secretary." The reply came from a door a little way down the hallway. Helena Garfield, the US ambassador to Petria, stepped out to greet them. "It's lasted us this long and when I was given the choice between buying paint or a new computer system, I have to say I went with the latter."

"Helena, how many times have I told you that it's OK to want to make your house look nice?"

"Oh, at least four, Ma'am."

"How many more will it take before you comply?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Elizabeth smiled and stepped forward to greet the ambassador. Helena Garfield had also been at the formal dinner at the presidential palace earlier that evening, but she had stepped out of the reception after only half an hour after receiving a call to say that the protest outside the embassy was growing, and could she please return and figure out what to do about it. She still wore the floor-length red dress she had chosen for the evening but had swapped her high heels for well-worn sneakers. Elizabeth had got to know the woman better over the past couple of days during her stay in the chancery residence, and she liked her a great deal. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Not as glad as I am to see you, I imagine. When the reports started coming in that the building was under attack, I just…" She trailed off, scrubbing a hand through her long dark hair. "Well, I can't imagine."

"Good," Elizabeth said. No one should have to imagine what it was like. She wished that she didn't _know_ what it was like, that Henry didn't know what it was like. Stepping out of the ballroom to see those dead bodies in the corridor and then seeing Artur Zembrovko shot in cold blood… she shuddered at the memory. "Helena, we need your help."

"Anything."

"I need to call the White House. Urgently. And then we need a strategy to get out of here and get home."

"Of course. We've been trying to put a call through ourselves, but all the lines are currently jammed and our internet connection is a little patchy. I suspect the local ISP is a little overwhelmed right now." Helena stepped closer and peered at Elizabeth's face. "Why don't you go and sit down for a minute, Ma'am? I'll call you once the call goes through."

There was no time to go and sit down. She had to keep moving, had to fix this, had to get them out, get Henry home. She couldn't sit down while her staff were still working. "No, it's fine, I –"

"Elizabeth," Henry said in the voice he used when he meant business, the one that suggested he would brook no arguments. "There's nothing we can do right now. Let's go and get changed." He reached out and took her arm, giving her a gentle tug towards the staircase that led up to the chancery's accommodation quarters where they had been staying for the past few days.

She couldn't deny him. She sighed in defeat. "Yeah."

"We'll start formulating a plan to locate the rest of our party, Ma'am," Matt said, doing his best reassuring face.

"Not until you get your shoulder checked out." She hadn't forgotten that her DS agent had been injured getting out of the ballroom.

"I can multi-task, Ma'am."

Elizabeth figured there'd be no point in arguing with him, and it seemed that the bleeding had stopped, so she let it drop for the time being. She turned to Helena.

The ambassador pre-empted what Elizabeth was going to say. "We'll keep trying Washington until we get through. Don't worry. I'll shout you if we get anywhere."

Urged on by Henry at her side and feeling a little weary, Elizabeth made her way upstairs.

* * *

"This is all just rumours. Why is there nothing confirmed?" Alison McCord was close to tears as she sat at her laptop, alternating between scrolling through her Twitter feed and refreshing the Reuters Wire homepage. CNN played on the small TV screen mounted on her bedroom cabinet.

Stevie paced the floor in front of her sister's bed, her phone pressed to her ear as she tried to get hold of their brother, who had gone to a friend's house. "I don't know, Ali," she said. "You know Mom and Dad will call us as soon as they can."

"It's been over an hour now since this attack started. They should have called by now."

There was no good answer to that, but just then Stevie got Jason's voicemail and so she distracted herself from thinking about her parents' phone silence by leaving her brother a message. "Hey, Jason. Call me. I think… I think you should come home, OK? Something's going on."

She hung up and turned back to her sister. They had debated for a while whether they should tell Jason what they knew, which was not much; he had managed to get through their mom's unfortunate trip to Iran blissfully unaware of the trouble until it was all over and they had hoped for a minute that the same could happen again. But he was a year older now, and he'd never forgive them if they didn't say anything and then later it turned out that something happened he really needed to know. So Stevie called him.

"Stevie." Alison's voice was quiet and something in her tone made Stevie stop dead.

She went over to where her younger sister was curled into her desk chair, eyes glued to the laptop screen. "What?"

Alison didn't say anything, but instead turned the laptop so Stevie could see it better. It was set to a Twitter feed giving rolling updates of events in Petria, and most of the updates were from local residents tweeting what they could see from their windows and eyewitnesses caught up in the commotion. In the middle of the screen was a photo of a car blocked by a group of banner-wielding protestors in front of a large ornate building.

 _The scene outside the US embassy,_ the caption read. _Elizabeth McCord's car blocked by protestors. US aggression turned around._ _Da zdravstvuyet Petria!_

"Oh my God," Stevie said, feeling her heart thumping hard against her ribcage and hearing the blood start to rush in her head. She gripped the back of Ali's chair for support and, when her sister offered her hand, slid hers into it gratefully. "Wait. What does that mean?" She nodded at the tweet.

"The Russian?" Alison said. "I Googled it. It means 'long live Petria'."

Stevie was quiet for a moment, thinking things through. "OK, so… at least we know Mom and Dad made it out of the palace alive."

" _Mom_ made it out of the palace," Alison corrected. "It doesn't say anything about Dad."

"It wouldn't, though," Stevie protested. "He's not the story. But we both know she'd never leave him behind in a million years. He's in the car with her." She was convinced of it. Her mother would never have left her husband at the palace. They either left together or not at all.

Alison nodded thoughtfully. "OK…" Her head snapped round to look at Stevie. "The car! Her DS agents drive the car."

Stevie's mind caught up a moment later. There were still a couple of DS agents stationed outside their house as a skeleton detail even though their mother was away. "Maybe the guys downstairs will know something." And maybe one of them could be persuaded to go and fetch Jason. She knew that they were all safe in DC, but she thought that she would feel better when her brother was home with them, so they could stay together and support each other. She was also sure that her parents would prefer their kids knew nothing about what was going on but, if they had to know, they'd feel better knowing that they were all together.

The two girls left the TV news playing and the laptop open on the desk as they dashed downstairs with the intention of interrogating the DS agents assigned to protect their house.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you for all the wonderful continued support for this story and its continuing descent into madness! :D

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

Henry pushed open the door to their temporary bedroom, ushering Elizabeth in front of him before leaving her for a moment in the middle of the room so he could dash over and pull the heavy curtains across the windows before switching on the light, hoping it would make it less obvious that they were there to anyone who might be looking in. Their room was two flights up and faced into a small courtyard that was overlooked only by other rooms in the chancery, but Henry didn't want to take any chances.

Outside, the Russian-made helicopter was still circling overhead, sending regular strobing lights across the bedroom ceiling and the white noise of the chopper blades starting to give Henry a headache. Finally with a moment to themselves, he turned to study Elizabeth.

There was a small reddened area on her forehead just above her left eye from where she had hit the ground in the ballroom. Henry raised his hand to brush his thumb gently over the damaged skin, watching the small wince on her face at his careful examining touch. "Sorry," he whispered, taking her face in his hands so that he could inspect the rest of her for damage.

"Henry, I'm fine," she said, although she made no move to stop him as he ran his hands over her face and neck, no doubt aware that he needed the touch to reassure himself.

He dipped his head to place a gentle kiss on her bruised forehead, lingering for a moment and just breathing her in. The past hour – was it really only an hour or so? – had left him feeling shaken. There had been a few moments when they were struggling to get out of the ballroom and when Kodalov had cornered them on the stairs that Henry had seriously worried if they were going to be able to get out at all. And then in the car when they were surrounded by protestors… and the tank… it was too much. He wrapped his arms around Elizabeth and pulled her in, holding her tightly and feeling her own arms slipping gratefully around him, clutching him to her as eagerly as he was her to him. He moved to kiss her, his mouth hot and insistent on hers, desperate for the affirmation of her touch. She pressed back up into him and the feel of her returning his kiss was enough to calm him slightly even as it set his nerve endings alight for other reasons.

It wasn't over yet, he knew that. They were still stuck and there was still danger but they were together. They had escaped the immediate threat and while they couldn't afford to be complacent, especially with Kodalov's revocation of Elizabeth's diplomatic status, Henry allowed himself just a minute to hold onto his wife and enjoy the relief that they had come this far.

There was a loud bang from somewhere outside on the street leading to the embassy. A firecracker, maybe, or a firework?

Or a small explosion.

The noise made both of them jump and break their embrace, reminding Henry that they didn't have time to linger. He let Elizabeth go and watched as she ran her hands through her hair and then reached for the zipper of her dress, pulling it down and then unceremoniously tugging the garment off over her head as she stepped out of her shoes. She moved to rummage around in the small wardrobe that stood in one corner of the room, pulling out slacks and a blouse.

The skin around both of her biceps was blotchy and red, no doubt from when Henry had hauled her back up off the floor, and from when Matt grabbed them both on the stairs out of the palace. It looked like it was probably going to bruise, as was the already-darkening mark on her left shoulder, which Henry guessed was also from her earlier fall.

He wanted to go to her and kiss each of those marks until she couldn't feel them anymore, but there was no time for that and so instead he told himself to be thankful; she was alive for the bruises to be able to heal.

Elizabeth pulled on her clothes and turned back to him as she was buttoning her blouse, eyeing up the formal suit that Henry still wore. "You gonna change?"

It prompted him into action. "Oh. Yeah." He took off his suit jacket and undid the cravat that he had purchased especially because it was such a close match to the colour of her dress, because he was sentimental like that and not ashamed to admit it. "You know, babe, I think this is one of those situations where it's OK to wear jeans." She still looked so formal and put-together in her workwear – not at all comfortable clothes for a crisis.

"I'm still the Secretary of State," she said as she pulled out a pair of shoes with a low heel and slipped them on.

Henry nodded. He understood. Just because there was a violent coup going on and a protest outside and their lives were in danger and she was injured and had been declared persona non grata, she still had a job to do. Technically, she was still at work.

Damn, that sucked.

On a personal level he hated it, but he couldn't deny that it made him feel slightly better to know she still had a handle on things. His wife was astonishingly competent and outstanding at her job. If anyone could figure a way out of their situation, she could.

Henry swapped his formal shoes and suit trousers for a pair of slightly more casual pants and some sneakers, but kept on his dress shirt and added a blazer on top. The professional clothes helped to keep his head in the game, too. As far as the press was concerned, he might have come on this trip to be Elizabeth's arm candy, and he was fine with that, but he was also a professional operative with experience of live missions and working in a war zone. He could contribute to getting them out.

There was another loud bang from outside, and this time it was followed by a wave of shouts from the protestors, who sounded as though they had grown in number. Somewhere above them, the Russian-made helicopter whirred.

There was a knock at the door and three seconds later Helena Garfield opened it and stuck her head in the room. She looked at Elizabeth. "We've got a line to Washington, Ma'am. The call is being transferred to the White House now."

The three of them ran down the stairs.

Outside, another loud explosion.

* * *

"The connection is a little patchy, Ma'am, but it should hold just fine." A Marine Security Guard whose name Elizabeth didn't know pulled off the headset he had been using and passed it over to her so that she could slide it on.

"Thank you." She settled herself in a hard-backed chair next to the desk in one of the embassy offices that held an array of communication equipment. "Could you do me a favour?" she asked the guard as he prepared to step out of the room, beckoning him back so she could speak to him quietly without being overhead by anyone but Henry who stood close to her side.

The young guard paused at the end of the desk. "Of course, Ma'am."

"Could you get me a list of everyone on staff at the embassy? Names and roles. And tonight's duty roster."

A brief look of confusion flickered over his face before it passed and he nodded. "Sure."

"Don't talk to anyone about it, OK? I just need to see the list." She wouldn't normally have given much of a thought to who was staffing the embassy at any given time, but with the coup and the current situation and Kodalov's deliberate targeting of her, she wanted to know exactly who was in the building and what they were supposed to be doing. More specifically, she was interested in who was employed directly by the US Government and who had been hired locally.

Just in case it was important.

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll get it right away."

"Thank you. You can give it directly to me. No one else needs to know about it." She fixed the kid with a look to tell him that she meant business and he gave her an eager nod before leaving the room. He was so young; no doubt Petria was his first overseas posting as a Marine Security Guard and he wouldn't want to disappoint the Secretary of State when she was putting her trust in him.

Across the room, Helena Garfield was engaged in conversation with the Regional Security Officer, a big robust guy called Andreou Flack, who was employed by the Diplomatic Security Service and was responsible for the security of the US mission in Petria. Not a good night for him. Elizabeth didn't know him well, but she had overheard her own agents describing him as a bit of a jobsworth. That was fine, as long as he was also efficient. She didn't need to be dealing with a security chief finding himself in over his head during a crisis. At least she was confident that the ambassador had her head screwed on straight; Helena Garfield could deal with the RSO.

Elizabeth turned her attention to the computer in front of her that displayed the status of her phone call, and clicked the button to take it off hold. At her side, Henry sat down next to her and picked up a spare headset, a question in his eyes as he looked at her. She nodded and he put the headset on. She didn't want to keep anything from him; he could hear the conversation – it was probably even beneficial to have him there with his defence background.

And there was no one she trusted more.

"This is Secretary McCord," she said, adjusting the little microphone on the headset. "Who's this?" She wasn't entirely sure who they'd actually managed to get through to.

The line crackled and hummed. Then the disembodied voice of a White House operator said, "Transferring your call to the Situation Room, Ma'am."

There was more crackling and then several clicks before a slightly alarming silence that made Elizabeth wonder if the connection had been lost. Then Russell Jackson's voice said, "Elizabeth, tell me it hasn't all gone to hell."

The sound of another explosion of some sort from outside echoed around the room.

"Scratch that," Russell amended. "Just tell me you can get out of hell."

"We're working on it," she replied, feeling relief at hearing the Chief of Staff's typical snark, and then thought that the situation must be pretty bad if talking to Russell Jackson actually counted as an improvement to her day.

The line hissed again. "Well, I hope you have better intelligence for me than the CIA, because they're getting all their news off the internet right now." From the level of targeted sarcasm in Russell's voice, Elizabeth guessed that he was sat across the table from someone high up in the CIA, and no doubt they were currently vehemently regretting their career choice.

Unfortunately the intelligence Elizabeth had was probably not of the sort that Russell was hoping for. "It's chaos, Russell," she said. "People are flooding the streets."

"But you're safe?"

Elizabeth hedged her answer. "We're at the embassy."

There was the sound of a door opening and closing on the other end of the line, followed by the scraping of chairs and murmuring from whoever was present with Russell in the Situation Room. Then Russell said, "The President's here."

Conrad was all brisk business when he spoke. "Bess, what's going on?"

She thought about answering diplomatically but quickly decided to just put it all out there. There was no time to be polite about things when the embassy was surrounded and there was an attack helicopter circling overhead for purposes unknown. "Artur Zembrovko is dead, sir. Foreign Minister Gleb Kodalov killed him and has declared himself president."

"Jesus," Russell muttered.

"I see," Conrad said in the tone he reserved for receiving bad news he wasn't yet quite sure what exactly he should do with.

Elizabeth glanced at Henry sitting attentively next to her. "We had a little chat with him on our way out of the palace," she went on. "He's invoking article nine of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations."

"Which says..?" Conrad enquired.

"'The receiving State may at any time and without having to explain its decision, notify the sending State that the head of the mission or any member of the diplomatic staff of the mission is persona non grata or that any member of the staff of the mission is unacceptable.' The choice is for us to withdraw the staff concerned or else Petria can refuse to recognise them. In essence get out or face the consequences. I paraphrase, but…" The voice was Nadine's; Elizabeth hadn't been aware that her own chief of staff was on the call, but she was glad of it.

She could also imagine Conrad closing his eyes and praying for oblivion at the answer.

"Well, we'd love to get out," Elizabeth said, "but we're stuck in the embassy and there's some sort of attack helicopter flying above us."

"What kind of helicopter?" Another new voice – this time from Admiral Ellen Hill, the National Security Advisor.

Henry caught Elizabeth's gaze and waited for her nod before taking the question. "Henry McCord, Ma'am. I can't be one hundred percent certain but I'm pretty confident it's a Russian-made Mi-24."

"Do we know if there are any of those helicopters still in use by the Petrian army?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'll find out," Ellen Hill answered.

"Find out fast," Conrad added, no doubt all too aware of the possible problem if it turned out the helicopter wasn't actually the property of Petria – and the problem if it was. Then he said, "Bess, we're seeing reports online that there's a large anti-American protest in one of the main squares in Rusapol." He let the statement hang there for a moment.

"Given the situation outside the embassy, it wouldn't surprise me," she said. "There's been resistance building for a while, I think. This new energy plant we're backing seems to have escalated things somewhat."

That was an understatement. The protests had followed her around over the course of her visit, popping up everywhere she was planning to be and growing in size as the days wore on in what could only be a deliberate fashion.

 _Wait a minute_. Something started to nag at Elizabeth in the back of her mind, a thought about the nature of the protests that had followed her around the country, but the President spoke again before she could fully rationalise it and the whisper of a thought drifted away for the time being.

"We're working on a plan to evacuate the embassy," Conrad said.

"Just as soon as we get some intelligence that's worth more than shit," Russell added quietly – but not quietly enough.

"We're reaching out to our allies in the area, Ma'am," said Nadine, and Elizabeth could well imagine her giving Russell some serious side-eye. "The British and the French have a joint naval base on the coast and a robust diplomatic presence in Rusapol. They may be able to help if required."

"Yeah, thanks. Let me know if I need to speak to anyone here, their ambassadors or military commanders." Elizabeth turned in her chair to look properly at Henry and reached out to take his hand. "Hey, Nadine?"

"Ma'am."

She swallowed around a lump that had appeared unbidden in her throat. "Our kids… could you let them know we're OK? Tell them that we're fine. You know, do the jazz hands thing to try and stop them from worrying?" Not that it would stop them from worrying. The McCord children were all far too smart and aware for their own good, and there was no way they wouldn't know what was going on or that their parents were in trouble.

Nadine answered in her most reassuring voice, the one that always made Elizabeth feel the tiniest bit better no matter the situation. "Already dealt with, Ma'am. Blake is on his way to your house to take care of things as we speak."

Good. It was good that Blake was going. He knew the kids and knew how to handle them, and he knew how to break bad news well. He would make sure they were OK until Elizabeth and Henry could be there themselves to make sure the children were OK. "Thank you," she said to Nadine, aware of how inadequate it was. Then she said, "Daisy and Jay are missing at the palace. The security guys are working on a plan to find them."

There was a moment's pause before Nadine answered, quiet and diplomatic. "I hope they come up with a good one."

"Me too." A small commotion on the other side of the room caught Elizabeth's attention and she looked up to see Helena Garfield heading over to where she sat with Henry, while Andreou Flack and the other embassy staff in the room were clustering around a television screen in the corner.

"I think you should see this, Madam Secretary," the ambassador said. "Gleb Kodalov is about to make an address."


	10. Chapter 10

You guys never fail to brighten up my day, I'm so glad people haven't abandoned this crazy fic haha. Thank you for the wonderful comments. Apologies for not replying to everyone individually; my job has recently been, shall we say, a trifle lively. I hope you enjoy this chapter x

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

Henry thought that the guy was such a… slimeball.

It was a word that Alison might use, one that was very close to Elizabeth's own assessment of _slimy_ , and one that Henry thought was particularly apt to describe Gleb Kodalov, whose face was currently filling the majority of the TV screen as he faced the camera and delivered his address.

The man spoke in Russian that Henry was unable to understand, but he thought from the tone of Kodalov's voice he could just about get the drift. And given the way Elizabeth, who understood more Russian than he did, was standing so tense next to him, quiet fury haloing around her, he guessed that it was about as incendiary as one could expect from a man who had arranged a violent coup, murdered his president and taken his country by force, all timed – coincidentally or not - to coincide with the visit of the US Secretary of State, who was now effectively on the run and trapped in the embassy, caged and cornered.

They should be on their way home and sneaking off to a quiet corner of Elizabeth's plane right about now and putting a _do not disturb_ sign on the cabin door, trying their best to keep the noise down while they found a way to make the overnight flight more fun. Not stuck in Rusapol and startling every time there was a loud noise from outside the building, which was often.

The young Marine Security Guard who Elizabeth had earlier tasked with obtaining the night's duty roster re-entered the room and headed over to them, stopping next to Elizabeth and passing her a paper folder. "Ma'am," he said, "the information you requested."

Elizabeth looked up at him and gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you." She opened the folder while everyone else was distracted by Kodalov on the television, her eyes scanning down the list of names.

The guard caught Henry's eye as he frowned at the television, trying to understand what the slimeball was saying. "He's saying Petria is a great nation that has been on its knees for too long," he translated for Henry. "He says it's unfortunate that President Zembrovko was caught in the crossfire during the attack on the palace, and the people responsible for the sudden violence will be held accountable. In Zembrovko's place he aims to be the strong leader the country needs to restore it to its former glory, that it's a country proud of its heritage and that doesn't need the patronising charity of the United States. And for that reason he's asked Secretary McCord to leave, and he invites all patriotic citizens to come down to the embassy to make sure she goes, willingly or otherwise."

"Damn," Henry said under his breath, casting a glance at Elizabeth, who had her head buried in the folder and gave no outward indication that she had heard what Kodalov said apart from the slightest tic of her jaw that gave away her quiet alarm. His protective instincts ticking over and heading rapidly towards engaging full throttle, Henry said, louder, "He's practically inciting violence against you."

The address came to an end and Kodalov smiled into the camera. He might have been addressing the nation as a whole but to Henry, having witnessed what the man said to Elizabeth in the palace and knowing her history with him and the fact that they were currently quite literally backed into a corner, it felt rather pointed and personal as he fixed his gaze on the camera, like he knew that she was watching. The smile that was supposed to convey benign strength to his people felt predatory to Henry when it was directed at Elizabeth.

Except that she wasn't watching, because she was staring at the folder in her hands, although when Henry looked at her properly it seemed that she wasn't reading whatever it was that was written there but rather was lost in thought and was merely looking in the general direction of the printed list as she turned something over in her head. "Elizabeth?" Henry prompted.

She turned to him then, clutching the folder tight in her hand until it crumpled under her touch. She pressed into his side as she stretched up to whisper into his ear while everyone else was still distracted by Kodalov's address, "I think we have a problem."

* * *

"Breaking news."

"What?" Stevie looked up from the stream of concerned text messages she had received from Jareth upon his learning of the situation involving her parents in Petria to find Alison looking earnestly between her and the screen of her laptop.

Alison's brow was creased and was as deadly serious as Stevie had ever seen her when she said, "President Zembrovko is dead."

Dread crept in. "What?" Stevie said again, abandoning her phone where she sat on Alison's bed and swiftly getting up so she could join her younger sister at the desk.

"President Zembrovko is dead," Alison repeated. "And Gleb Kodalov is the new president."

Stevie frowned as she tried to place the name. "The Petrian foreign minister?"

"The slimy one, Mom calls him."

Right, she remembered now. Remembered an evening about a year into her mom's job as Secretary of State when she had come home from the office in a righteous, ranting mood. She had been looking for Henry, but he had been out, and Stevie was the only one in the house and so she had been the one to receive her mother's tirade about how awful the guy was during a video call earlier that day. It had seemed at first like a pretty standard dislike of a pretty standard idiot male politician who didn't like dealing with a woman more powerful than him, which Stevie knew her mother was unfortunately used to dealing with, and she had quite enjoyed listening to her lambast him in a way that suggested that only God could help the man if he ever found himself alone in a room with Elizabeth McCord.

But then after a while the anger had just deflated all of a sudden and she had gone quiet, looking at Stevie with something that she couldn't quite name but that she knew meant her mom was genuinely unsettled by something. She had frowned like she was debating whether or not to say something and then, decision made, she didn't make eye contact with Stevie when she spoke.

 _"_ _Do you know that thing some guys do when they look at you like…"_

She had trailed off without finishing the sentence, perhaps because she caught herself before giving too much away to her daughter, but, Stevie thought, more likely because there were no accurate words to describe it but there was also no need to complete it. She got it.

 _"_ _Yeah," Stevie answered, curled up on a kitchen chair and watching her mother as she stood in front of the kitchen island, her face as conflicted and open as she'd ever seen it._

 _Elizabeth nodded and then turned to look at her daughter, softening at the small, understanding smile on the face of her eldest child. "Yeah," she agreed._

She had said nothing else on the subject of Gleb Kodalov, had instead turned the conversation to Stevie's own day, and the guy had never come up again in any talk of her mother's work, but Stevie figured she'd heard all she needed to know about him. "That poor country," she said. "Does it say how Zembrovko died?"

Alison didn't answer, all her attention focused on her laptop screen as she scrolled through the breaking news feed.

Annoyance flared in Stevie at being ignored and she poked her sister's shoulder to try and get her attention. "Hey, Ali."

Downstairs, the front door opened and the heavy footsteps of Jason could be heard in the hall – their brother successfully collected from his friend's house by one of the DS agents. A second, more careful set of footsteps followed him in. "Yo, siblings!" Jason yelled up the stairs. "Blake's here!"

Stevie was just about to leave Alison to commune with the internet in peace and go and see if Blake could give them any useful news when she caught sight of what had captured her sister's attention so completely. Near the top of the breaking news feed, right next to the headline announcing the sudden violent death of President Zembrovko, was a second headline, and it was no doubt that which held Alison frozen.

 _Kodalov calls time on Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord, invokes Article 9; US embassy surrounded, explosions heard._

And below the headline, a picture of the embassy surrounded by protestors. The camera had managed to capture something of the energy of the crowd – of its fractious mood, as well as a bright orange flash from a point close to the embassy gate, a flash that could only be evidence of one of the mentioned explosions.

Stevie and Alison stared at the headline and the picture below it, unmoving, as though staring at it long enough might make it change, willing the breaking news feed to update with more news, better news. That was how Blake and Jason found them two minutes later when they made their way upstairs, all four of them coming to form a small vigil around the computer in the hope that it would provide something more hopeful – and soon.

* * *

It had taken the better part of twenty minutes for Elizabeth to extract herself from the room following the end of Kodalov's address; she had been sucked into a conversation with Helena Garfield and Andreou Flack about the potential for evacuating the embassy in the current climate and what assets they had in the region – dishearteningly, not that many - that they might be able to use. That had been usurped after a while by Matt, happily sporting a clean shirt, telling her that he and Frank and some of the embassy's Marine Security Guards were formulating a plan to find the missing members of their party at the presidential palace – a discussion that Elizabeth was fully behind – and somehow time had got away from her a little.

Through it all, Henry had been sat quietly with the young kid she had trusted to get her the list of names earlier, watching her and waiting patiently while the kid, who was fluent in Russian, re-watched Kodalov's address so he could write down a translation for them.

Eventually, when Frank and a couple of the guards went off to consult a map of Rusapol and try to find the blueprints for the palace, Elizabeth took the opportunity to escape, beckoning Matt to follow her. She went over to where Henry sat with the kid – Corporal Greenwood – and took her husband's hand, giving a slight tug to encourage him to stand. She turned to Corporal Greenwood before leading Henry from the room. "Make sure we're not followed?" she said, tilting her head in the direction of the corner where the ambassador was still speaking with the Regional Security Officer. She looked closely at the kid to make sure he got it.

He did. "Yes, Ma'am."

She gave him a grateful smile and then left the room with Henry at her side and Matt close behind. She led them back upstairs to the chancery's living accommodation, and left Matt stationed outside the door as she tugged Henry with her into their bedroom.

Her husband was watching her intently as she closed the door behind them and flicked on a small lamp to light the space. The sound from the street outside was slightly muted in the room, the location on the inside edge of the building a blessing, but Elizabeth could still clearly hear the noise of the people in the streets and feel the beat of the helicopter flying above. Surely the damn thing had to run out of fuel sometime? She looked down at the paper folder she still held in one hand.

"Babe?" Henry prompted. He took a step towards her so there was no more than a couple of inches between them, and raised one hand to cup her chin in his palm so he could tilt her face up to him. His thumb stroked her jaw softly, reassuringly.

She let herself enjoy the sensation for a moment but then she took a half-step away, causing him to drop his hand. She felt the loss of it, and instantly wanted it back, but she needed to focus. She needed to keep her head in the game, play her role as Secretary of State, and the loving compassion of her husband occasionally made it hard to do that. That didn't mean she didn't need him though. She was pretty sure he was the only thing getting her through, and gave him a look of apology before turning to business. "The protests," she said.

Henry frowned. "What about them?" He glanced towards the source of the noise outside like he thought she was referring to the activity currently going on around them.

She was, but not entirely. "They've been following me around the country since we got here."

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice hard with a protective edge. No doubt it had rattled him to hear about the protests that had plagued her while he had been enjoying the local churches and culture. He always hated it when she got even the slightest bit of negative publicity, sweet man. No doubt watching her being taunted by so many anti-US protestors had been worse for him than it had for her.

"But not just following me," she went on, " _pre-empting_ me. They showed up in places before I got there."

It was obvious that Henry wasn't quite following. "OK…"

"My schedule wasn't published," she explained, willing him to catch on to what she was telling him. "Other than a couple of events specifically for the press, the rest of it was on a need to know basis. Not even Kodalov had a full copy, he only had an incomplete draft." Usually when she travelled abroad, the office of her counterpart in the host country would know her complete schedule for reasons of openness and security, but given her tense relationship with the Petrian foreign minister, she hadn't found it necessary to provide his office with an updated copy of the original draft schedule that had been submitted back when the trip was first being planned.

The wheels in Henry's head were starting to turn. "So that means…"

"The only people who had a full current copy of my schedule were on our side. And only someone with a full copy could have told those protestors exactly where they needed to be and when."

Henry took her arm like he needed the contact, the reassurance of touch at the implications of her words. "You're saying there's a leak," he said, seeking out her gaze and holding it so he could see the certainty in her eyes.

She nodded. "And now there has been a coup."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

They didn't speak for almost a minute after Henry finally realised what Elizabeth had figured out – and understood why she really wanted the list of people on duty in the embassy.

He had thought she wanted to check up on the loyalty of any Petrian employees, hopefully unnecessarily but completely understandably in the circumstances.

But no. It wasn't just the Petrians. They could be looking for anyone. That thought didn't sit comfortably with Henry. They had been staying in the chancery building for the past three nights while someone was using their advantaged position to leak Elizabeth's schedule to groups of protestors, telling them exactly where they needed to be to have the maximum impact, and inspiring Elizabeth's DS agents to step up their level of protection until it was so restrictive and conspicuous, it almost wasn't worth continuing with the trip.

Henry had thought the incidents were just unfortunate – worrying in themselves, of course, but just one of those things that happened sometimes as part of the job. He knew that was how Elizabeth had seen them; more used to security issues on overseas visits, she had paid them much less attention than he had. Now to find out that they had been _orchestrated_ , that someone was deliberately trying to unsettle his wife while laying the groundwork for the violent assault earlier on the palace and the gathering now outside their embassy… it left him feeling shaken.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, a gesture borne out of stress, and then wiped his palms across his face and shook his head in the hope of clearing his thoughts. It didn't work. All he could think was that they were supposed to be _safe_ in the embassy. They had come to the embassy because it was supposed to be secure, somewhere they could take stock and plan a way to get out and to the airport.

How the hell were they supposed to do that when there was a leak? And what exactly did the person doing the leaking hope was going to happen?

There wasn't much they could do about the protestors outside, Henry knew, but damn it, they were supposed to be safe _inside_ the embassy.

He only realised his hands were clenched into fists when Elizabeth reached out to gently run her hands down his arms so that she could carefully uncurl his fingers, smoothing her thumbs over his palms to prevent them from curling inwards again. "Henry. It'll be OK," she said.

Something in the way she said it reminded him of the night before she went to Iran, telling him that she'd be OK – insisting that she'd be fine – and look what had happened on that particular trip. He was aware that he was breathing heavily, the instinct to fight and defend building within him, and he knew he'd do whatever it took to get the pair of them out of there, home safe and sound, back to their children. He used his hold on Elizabeth's hands to tug her into him, not giving her a moment to protest as he wrapped his arms tight around her, sliding one hand into her hair to direct her head to his shoulder. He couldn't agree with her statement that it'd be OK. He hoped more than anything that she was right, and he had more than enough faith in her to believe that she was genuinely confident at being able to figure something out, but he just needed a moment to be the worried husband before he forced himself back into the role of experienced, supportive field operative.

He kissed the top of Elizabeth's head and she pulled back slightly in his embrace so she could stretch up to kiss him properly. Her hand slid gently into his hair, fingers stroking lightly down his scalp in an effort to sooth him as she broke the kiss. "Henry," she said.

He tipped his forehead against hers, not yet ready to break their connection. He had been so close – too frighteningly close – to losing her not long ago, his own inability to accept reality driving a rift between them that for a time he had genuinely had no idea how to heal. Even just the threat of not having the solidity and foundation of their relationship to fall back on when he needed it was too much to bear, and he knew he could never let anything like that happen again. The risk was too great. He needed to keep his wife close, and now he had her again and they were back on track and rediscovering all the reasons they had chosen to build a life together, he took any threat to what they had seriously.

Their current situation was most definitely a threat, albeit an external one, and he needed just one more moment of physical closeness before dealing with what lay before them. Maybe that made him desperate, but he didn't care.

And then he understood the certainty of Elizabeth's statement that things would be OK. She was right. They would be OK. They absolutely _had_ to be. They couldn't lose each other.

"We're going to sort this out," he said, lifting his head to press a kiss to her forehead and then pulling back so he could look her in the eye while still keeping her in the circle of his arms.

She nodded. "We are." She smiled at him and stroked her hands over his shoulders, her touch doing little to calm the buzz of adrenaline in his veins but working wonders to distract him from it by sending warmth shooting through his torso.

Henry felt his body responding to Elizabeth's innocent – mostly innocent – touch and knew how easy it would be to sink into her and just abandon everything else for a while. He was so tempted, and almost gave into the temptation to lose himself in her, but just then the helicopter made another pass above the embassy, lower this time, low enough that he could feel the vibrations passing through the building in response to the beat of the chopper blade, and it was just enough to focus his mind on the task at hand. "We need to identify the leak."

"Yeah." Elizabeth stepped back out of his hold so she could open the folder of names and pass the list to him.

His body instantly missed the feel of hers pressed up against him, but mercifully she stayed close so she could read the names over his shoulder as he worked his way down the list. He started with the big question. "Who do you trust absolutely?" he asked.

"You," she answered without hesitation, bringing a smile to Henry's face even as he knew she had taken his question seriously in the context he meant it. "My DS agents. Daisy and Jay."

Henry nodded. He agreed with her assessment. He'd put his faith in everyone they had bought with them on the trip, but everyone else was a relative unknown.

Beside him, Elizabeth hesitated. "I want to trust Helena..?"

"Me too." He liked the US ambassador to Petria. He thought she had her head screwed on straight and he had enjoyed her company during the time they'd spent at the embassy. But there was one glaring issue that meant Helena Garfield had to be a prime suspect in their search for the leak. "But babe, this evening, at the reception…"

"I know," Elizabeth said.

"She got a call to leave early." He hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but given the events of the past few hours, in hindsight the ambassador had been conspicuous in her absence during the coup.

"To come and deal with the protest outside," Elizabeth pointed out.

"That's what she told us," Henry said. Then he added, "She was probably telling the truth."

She nodded. "Probably."

"But…"

"Yeah."

"No one else got a call."

Elizabeth frowned. "But why would she do it? She got her doctorate in the narrowing of Petrian culture under Soviet rule – she knows what communism did to this country. She's been vocal in her role at developing US influence in the region. She's on our side. She's an ambassador!"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. And maybe it's not her. But she's a suspect. Right?" He could see Elizabeth was still reluctant to tarnish her ally with a negative assessment.

Eventually she nodded and sighed. "Right."

"Now who else?"

"I think we can narrow the list to anyone who had access to my complete schedule."

Henry glanced down the list of names in his hand. Some of them he recognised, most of them he didn't. He looked to Elizabeth for elaboration. "OK, so that includes..?"

She reached out and took his wrist to tilt the paper towards her and get a better view of the names. Her side pressed against his as she answered, and it was just as well she was so close, because the crowd on the street outside seemed to suddenly double their noise as a loud explosion went off, loud enough and close enough for Henry to be able to feel the resulting tremor and for the wardrobe door to rattle against its hinges in the corner of the room. He could only guess at the level of carnage in front of the embassy and their prospects of finding a decent escape route any time soon, but that wasn't an issue for the present moment.

One disaster at a time.

Still, the shock of the explosion and the resultant shouts of the protestors threw him slightly, but next to him Elizabeth was focused on the task at hand.

"The first political secretary," she said, drawing one finger down the list and pausing at five names in total to make a list of six including the ambassador, "the advance security guys, I guess the chief tech person would know how to get to it if they were so inclined… and the Regional Security Officer, Andreou Flack."

* * *

Corporal Isaac Greenwood rewound the tape of Gleb Kodalov's television address for the fifth time. He almost had the translation complete and just wanted to make sure he had got all the nuances correct before he passed his work to Secretary McCord. He was fluent in Russian, but had only been in Petria for a few months and was still getting used to the colloquialisms and slight variations in the language to the way he had originally learned it.

He took his task seriously; he knew that the Secretary had chosen to trust him, and he wouldn't let her down. It wasn't his place to ask questions, but he could read between the lines and figure out why she had wanted a list of everyone on the staff at the embassy.

Perhaps she was just being cautious given the circumstances, but something told him that she was suspicious of someone. He just wished he knew who.

Greenwood looked up as Helena Garfield approached, apparently having finally finished her conversation with Mr Flack about the resources they had at their disposal in the embassy. He paused the tape of Kodalov and pushed his translation notes to one side when she stopped by his desk. "Ma'am," he greeted her.

The ambassador pushed her hair back off her face and gave him a smile. Her red satin dress shone under the light of a small lamp; she still hadn't found time to change after dashing back from the reception.

Greenwood wondered about her returning so early.

"Where did the Secretary go?" she asked him. "I need to update her."

"She's with Dr McCord," Greenwood answered. "She asked for some privacy." He figured that was a vague enough answer but one that hopefully wouldn't invite too many follow-up questions.

Helena shook her head. "This can't wait."

Greenwood shrugged as if to say he had no control over the situation – which he did not – and then stood when the ambassador made to move past him to the door. He put his hand out to stop her. "She didn't want to be disturbed, Ma'am." He said it apologetically, like he'd help if he could, but he was just the enforcer. It usually would have been enough to get the ambassador to back down; she could be stubborn at times but she was generally reasonable, and a realist.

Apparently a violent coup changed things a little bit. "Where did she go, Corporal?"

He didn't answer, but kept his arm across the doorway so she couldn't pass through.

"Might I remind you that I outrank you." There was just enough humour in her voice when she said it that Greenwood knew she wasn't threatening him – yet.

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. Except when your security is at risk." When her security was at risk he was authorised to overrule her in order to get her to safety, as she well knew.

"And is it?" she said.

Outside, the helicopter made another pass overhead and a loud shout went up from the protestors in front of the embassy. Helena jumped at the sudden noise of it. Corporal Greenwood raised one eyebrow.

The ambassador backed down.

* * *

The smell of grease and meat permeated the Situation Room as Russell Jackson unwrapped his lunch of a double cheeseburger and fries – what his wife didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and Russell thought that given the current situation, if he was going to have a heart attack that day, it wasn't going to be because of his cholesterol. He might as well enjoy his lunch.

He scrolled through the emails pinging almost relentlessly onto his phone while he ate, half-listening to the Director of the CIA, who was at the other end of the table making a series of increasingly urgent and irate phone calls to his underlings, trying to get some better intelligence on the situation in Petria. Seriously, the guy would be better off just checking Twitter if he was after eyewitness accounts, as it seemed there had been something of an oversight with regards to making sure they had sufficient assets to call upon in Rusapol to help them.

Russell was just on the verge of intervening – of taking the Director's phone by force and doing the damn job himself – when Admiral Ellen Hill re-entered the room and took the seat to his left, happily blocking his view of the CIA Director.

Ellen Hill looked at his lunch disapprovingly. "Trying to kill yourself, Russell?"

He took another bite of his burger and chewed and swallowed it before he replied. "I'm looking for any bright spot in an otherwise shitty day, Ellen. Dead cow and deep fried potato is currently all I have."

The look on the face of the National Security Advisor was not inspiring confidence. "In that case you might want to save some of those fries to cheer yourself up after I tell you what I have to tell you."

Russell took her advice seriously, pushing his meal aside and waiting for her to hit him with whatever new gem of information she had discovered to ruin his day. "Hit me with it, Ellen. I bought a brownie for dessert, it's OK. I have enough carbs to take the hit."

Ellen grimaced and pushed a folder towards him. She told it to him bluntly, straight to the point. "I looked into it, and there are no Mi-24 helicopters currently in the service of the Petrian army."

Russell closed his eyes and released a breath. This was it. This was what was going to give him the heart attack. "You're telling me…"

"The helicopter over the US embassy in Rusapol? Most likely belongs to Russia."


	12. Chapter 12

You guys never fail to make my day (week, month) with your wonderful comments and support for this fic, and my recent boat-pun-tastic experimental outing. Seriously, thank you. You're all amazing xx

 **Chapter Twelve**

Despite the constant hum of background noise – more than a hum, really, more like a too-loud movie soundtrack – Henry and Elizabeth both still jumped when there was a knock on the bedroom door, so engrossed in trying to figure out the most likely source of the leak that the interruption came as something of a surprise.

Henry flipped closed the file holding the list of names as Elizabeth called, "Come in."

A second later Matt poked his head into the room. "Phone call downstairs, Ma'am. It's Mr Jackson."

"Thank you. We're coming."

The DS agent disappeared back through the door to wait for them. Henry glanced down at the file in his hand. "Should we tell him?"

They had agreed that Matt was on their listed of trusted people and not at all a suspect in their search for the traitor, but Henry wasn't sure if Elizabeth was planning to bring him into their little circle of confidence. Personally he thought that they should; he knew that the knowledge would make the man step up his level of protection and hover closer to Elizabeth, which she would hate, and would likely be pretty obvious, but Henry would rather that than have something awful happen. He wanted their enemies to know she had protection.

Yet he said nothing. He had to remind himself that no matter what he felt as a terrified husband and worried bystander, his wife was the Secretary of State. She was at work, and she outranked him, and so ultimately it was her call. They could fight over it first but the outcome would still be the same and so Henry bit his tongue, pretty sure keeping quiet was going to kill him. Damn, he sometimes hated the demarcation between work and personal.

Elizabeth looked conflicted, her mouth set in a line of indecision. She didn't ask Henry what he thought; no doubt she didn't need to. She looked at him for a long moment and he could see the wheels turning in her head as she weighed up the options. Then she reached out and took the file from him. "We need to take that call," she said.

"Right." At least he was with her, so even if her DS agent didn't know what they were up to, Henry would have her back, could keep her safe. He always would.

But then she surprised him; as they left the room and met Matt where he was stationed just outside the door, Elizabeth handed the file over to him as they walked past to reach the stairs. "Would you hold onto this for safe-keeping?" she said, in a casual way that suggested it wasn't a big deal, but the meaning behind the look she gave her agent was clear. She wasn't about to tell him what was going on, but if he happened to find out for himself by looking in a folder she just happened to give him, then… so be it.

He opened the file and quickly ran his gaze down it, no doubt noting the six names that Elizabeth had underlined. Then he snapped it shut. "Yes, Ma'am." He slid the file inside his jacket, his face giving nothing away.

They made their way back to the communications suite where they found Corporal Greenwood engaged in a slightly tense exchange of glances with Helena Garfield.

"Could we have the room, please?" Elizabeth asked, heading over to the desk where they'd be able to pick up the phone call.

Greenwood and a couple of others who were present dutifully filed out of the room, but the ambassador lingered, sitting at a computer and seemingly unaware of the request.

"Helena?"

She looked up. "Madam Secretary?"

Elizabeth looked pointedly at the door, just beyond which Corporal Greenwood stood with Matt.

"Oh." Helena looked thoughtful for a moment, but then she stood and reluctantly – a little too reluctantly, Henry thought – left the room, pausing in the doorway and looking back at Elizabeth like she was thinking about saying something. She let whatever it was drop, and then Henry shut the door behind her, making eye contact with Matt as he did, silently willing the DS agent to keep a close eye.

Just in case, of course.

Henry joined Elizabeth at the desk where she had already pulled on a headset and was holding out the other set for him to take. He sat down next to her, close enough he could feel the heat of her thigh against his, and then she hit the button to take the call off hold.

"Russell, you there?" she said.

"Elizabeth, good news," the chief of staff answered brightly. "Well, not good news." Less brightly. "More like terrible news, but I like to put a positive spin on things, you know?"

Henry resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, wondering how much worse things could get.

"Give it your best shot, Russell," Elizabeth told him, the look on her face matching exactly how Henry felt, except with an added measure of stoicism he was currently finding it hard to muster.

"So it turns out your helicopter isn't owned by Petria."

Henry groaned. "The Russians."

"Probably."

Well, at least Henry had his answer: it turned out things could get much worse. Good to know.

"You're looking into it, right?" Elizabeth said. "We have plenty of assets in Russia that we can tap for information."

"We're looking into it," Russell confirmed.

Henry through briefly of Dmitri, of how he had tried to turn him into an asset and how it had worked for a time until it really, really hadn't, and how they were still getting over that and how he was selfishly glad he didn't know any other Russian assets, because he wasn't sure he could handle anything like that happening again. Suddenly he got an insight into that whole sorry mess from Elizabeth's point of view; the situation was completely different, but now as then, she was simply trying to rescue something in the best way possible. He knew that she was aware of the potential costs involved, but her job was to see the bigger picture. And now his was, too.

He turned to press his forehead against her hair, feeling the need for some contact. He swore to himself that while they might need to focus on the bigger picture, he'd never again let either of them forget their personal priorities, either. They were a team, and they needed to stay together, no matter what.

Elizabeth turned her head to look at him, making him pull back a little bit, and he was sure she'd be able to see everything he was feeling reflected in his eyes. Everything – their jobs, the bigger picture, everything – stemmed from the solid foundation of their circle of two. Without that, nothing else mattered.

Henry's mistake over the past year had been to forget that for a time.

His wife's expression softened as she looked at him and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Yeah, she got it. She reached out to squeeze his hand and then drew his hand up so she could brush her lips over his knuckles. She kept the soft, understanding look on her face even as her voice was all business as she said to Russell, "I need you to look into something else for me as well."

She could be both his wife and the Secretary of State at once, and do both of those things exceptionally well. Henry wondered how he had forgotten that.

Too caught up in himself, most likely. Idiot.

Still, that was done now, and their partnership was intact and Henry wasn't about to let something like a violent coup and the Russians circling overhead derail them.

"You think I don't have enough to be getting on with?" Russell replied, snark in his voice but it was obvious he didn't mean it.

"We think we have a leak, Russell."

"Well, of course we do."

Henry could just imagine the expression on the chief of staff's face, the eye roll he probably gave as he learned that the shit show they were dealing with had just acquired more shit.

Elizabeth told him the list of names they were interested in.

"There are some big names on there," Russell remarked.

"Yeah."

There was a pregnant pause before the next quiet, careful question came. "You know what you're doing, Bess?"

If Henry wasn't mistaken, he'd say that Russell Jackson actually sounded slightly worried for her. "We know what we're doing," he answered definitively before Elizabeth could reply.

Russell sighed heavily. "OK, then. Unless you have any more good news to share, I'm going to set our guys to research your dodgy names then go and brief the President that we have a traitor in our midst. I'll call you back within twenty minutes."

Briefing the president was one job Henry definitely did not envy. There was no way Conrad Dalton would take the news well.

"Speak soon, Russell," Elizabeth said.

"Yeah." There was the sound of scraping chair legs and papers shuffling and no doubt Russell Jackson was already on his way out of the room before the call had even finished. "Stay safe, Bess. Henry."

The line went dead.

Elizabeth's hand still holding his, Henry stroked his thumb over her knuckles. He glanced upwards as though he could look through the storeys of the building to see the helicopter circling above them. "So, the Russians, huh?"

Then he laughed. Elizabeth joined him a couple of seconds later, her face crinkling up in a smile as they shared a bit of light relief. Henry was pretty sure it was a laugh or cry situation, and he figured laughing was more productive, and definitely better for morale.

"Yeah, we're screwed," Elizabeth said.

She said it jokingly, but Henry knew there was a measure of truth in her words. Still, at least they could put off dealing with it until the laughter had stopped.

* * *

He couldn't get the kid guard to break.

Regional Security Officer Andreou Flack had spent several minutes questioning – casually, at first, almost idly really, and then blatantly and persistently – Corporal Greenwood to find out exactly what the Secretary of State had entrusted him to do. But the young MSG wouldn't crack.

"Consider it an order," he tried. He couldn't order the man, not really, but he did have superiority.

Isaac Greenwood looked calmly back at him, his youthful face giving nothing away except determination. "The Secretary's orders outweigh yours, sir, sorry."

Great. Short of marching the President of the United States into the room and getting him to override Elizabeth McCord's instructions, Corporal Greenwood would never break. Andreou Flack forced a jovial smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "OK, then. Good for you, son. She'll appreciate that."

Let the kid think he was just trying to test him.

"Thank you, sir."

Oh, but the kid clearly knew that he had been fishing for information. And while Flack hadn't been able to confirm anything, he knew Secretary McCord was suspicious of _something_. She was hiding something from them, and that wasn't a good position for the staff to be in when there had been a coup and the protest outside the embassy was about one struck match away from a full engulfing inferno. She shouldn't be keeping things from them.

Which led to the question of _why_ she was keeping things from them.

Flack looked to his right as movement caught his attention. Helena Garfield stepped up next to him, dark hair a little wild around her head thanks to the stresses of the evening and her long red ball gown entirely out of place in the circumstances. "You know, Madam Ambassador, you should really change."

She glanced down at her front and then looked up to find Flack looking at her front, too. She frowned a little, but not disapprovingly, as was their game. "Later," she said. She tilted her head in the direction of Corporal Greenwood, who was studiously ignoring both of them. "What did you find out?" she asked softly.

So she knew that something was going on too, that the Secretary of State had trusted the kid with something important, important enough to hide from the ambassador.

Helena was in charge of the US mission in Petria. What would need to be kept from her?

Flack thought that he might have an idea. He thought that the Secretary might be onto something… some _one_.

He opened his mouth to reply to her but was cut off by Frank, one of the Secretary's DS agents, calling across to Matt from the doorway.

"Come and see what you think of our plan," Frank called.

"Your plan to stage a counter-coup?" Matt quipped as he strolled towards the door, passing Flack and Helena as he went.

"That, or at least rescue our friends from the palace."

The two men disappeared off down the corridor and turned into a little passage towards where the security suite was housed, away from the main hub of the chancery building.

Flack turned to Helena. "Madam Ambassador, if you wouldn't mind stepping out with me for a moment. I need a word."

* * *

She thought for a moment about just switching it all off.

The laptop, the TV, her phone, everything. Just switch it all off and go to sleep like it wasn't happening and maybe, just maybe, it might not be true. Alison McCord was pretty sure denial wasn't going to make the godawful situation go away but hey, a girl could dream.

Especially when reality seemed to be something of a nightmare.

She sat with her brother and sister in the TV room, watching the breaking news coverage of Gleb Kodalov making his first address as a man who stole a presidency. It had all been bad enough to begin with – and then he had mentioned her mom, and basically told all the people in his country who hated her to go down to the US embassy, where she was currently based with her dad. And he had _smiled_ while he did it.

It had made Alison feel gross. Then they had shown some cameraphone pictures and shaky footage of what was going on outside the embassy and Alison was finding it really hard to find the positive in the situation.

Across the room, Blake paced in the corner, phone pressed to his ear as he called Nadine at the State Department to try and find out what was going on. From eavesdropping as much as she could on his side of the conversation, Alison figured he wasn't having much luck.

But, she thought, clinging on to a small measure of optimism, maybe no one had yet tried the obvious approach.

She pulled out her phone, opened up a new message box to send a text to multiple contacts, input both her parents as recipients and typed in: _Mom, Dad, what's going on? Are you OK?_

Short and to the point. She hit send and watched as the little message sending symbol whirred. She could feel the acid churning in her stomach and her heart stuttering in her chest, beating so fast as to almost be a hum. She didn't think she had ever been so anxious, not even when her mom was in Iran. A notification popped up.

 _Message delivery failed._

She felt sick. Alison stared at the little screen for a moment before calmly placing her phone back on the arm of her chair. She looked blankly in the direction of the TV and did her very best not to think about anything at all.

Yeah. Maybe denial was good for now.


	13. Chapter 13

Hello! If you haven't already done so, may I humbly request that you suspend your disbelief with this fic from here on out; its grasp on reality is becoming increasingly tenuous haha. That said, I hope this chapter is OK!

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

"The thing I don't get is how no one saw it coming." Elizabeth idly traced one finger over a little stain on the table as she sat with Henry, waiting for Russell Jackson to call them back.

"Hmm?" Henry looked up from his phone, for which he had been trying and failing to find a signal for the past few minutes.

Elizabeth pushed her chair back from the desk and turned to face Henry head on, close enough to her husband that her knees were pressed up against his, letting her feel the warmth and solidity of him next to her. It was comforting. "Kodalov obviously orchestrated the plot somehow. I don't doubt that he has the support for it, but it was so… well hidden."

A thoughtful look crossed Henry's face as he considered it. "The coup was big and violent," he said. "How did no one see it coming?"

She nodded, pleased they were on the same page. "Exactly. I know our ties with Petria haven't always been that close, but _no one_ knew this was coming. There was no warning at all."

"You know, it's only relatively recently that Petria became a democracy. They would have been used to hiding things back under Soviet rule," Henry said. "And even before that, before communism, it may have had a rich culture but it was still a secretive place."

He had a point. Petria was a beautiful country with a varied and interesting history, but it was true that it had always been a rather closed place. It was only in the last thirty years or so that it had been experimenting with a more open means of government – and society more generally. Still, from what she knew of the place, something didn't sit right with Elizabeth. "Yeah, but…"

Henry leaned forward, resting his hands on Elizabeth's thighs and looking closely at her face, eyes tracing over her features. "What, babe?"

"The American company with the clean energy plant we're here to support is only here at all because eighteen months ago Petria suffered a disastrous fire at a state-owned coal-powered plant. It caused billions in damage, killed hundreds of people and the area is still feeling the environmental effects."

Henry frowned. "So?"

"So they tried to cover it up. And failed. Spectacularly. So our company spied an opportunity to make some money in a troubled region…"

"And here we are?"

"And here we are. I'd bet you anything you like that a secret coup planned in Petria wouldn't stay a secret long enough for it to be executed."

They stared at each other for a moment. Elizabeth thought how strangely exhilarating it was, how enjoyable, to be working with Henry – working together on a problem that they were actually allowed to talk about, that they _needed_ to talk about, a problem that they both had skills to help solve. A problem where they could use each other for support and reassurance. It made the stress and sheer awfulness of the situation that little bit easier to bear, and it gave her hope that they had a positive way forward when they got back home. They could be together and work together; they didn't have to pick.

Henry swallowed. "So… maybe the coup was planned somewhere else."

Elizabeth could still hear the helicopter outside. It kept making long, sweeping passes around the embassy, flying so far away that it was almost inaudible for a time before looping back towards them and starting the circle again, occasionally making a pass directly overhead and hovering there for a minute or two in a manner she suspected was designed to intimidate. And now they knew that it was most likely a Russian helicopter.

The wheels were turning in her head.

"Kodalov was always against the US-owned power plant," she said, speaking up to be heard over the increasing rhythmic noise of the chopper blades. "He's something of a nationalist. And he has always been really popular in Petria. He has plenty of support among the younger demographic."

"The demographic most likely to protest," Henry said.

Yes. He got it. She loved that they were on the same page without her having to explain every little detail. It made it so much easier. Damn, she loved her husband. "Right. And the company building the power plant hasn't exactly covered itself in glory recently. Daisy has spent the past month telling me how the whole thing is an unnecessary PR disaster. So maybe Kodalov used his soft power to oppose the plant and use its own mistakes to stoke the protests among his supporters."

"That would stoke the embers," Henry said, his hands still on her legs, squeezing lightly.

Elizabeth leaned into him. "Exactly. And then maybe he worked with whoever is our embassy leak to use my visit to bolster the protests and garner support for himself without being too directly involved, while increasing discontent with President Zembrovko and the influence of the United States."

"And you," Henry put in.

Right. Some of the protests had been uncomfortably personal, but she had been hoping to gloss over that. She should have known that Henry wouldn't be able to, even as she was hoping he might not even have noticed. _Fool_. Of course he had noticed. "… yeah," she admitted, before moving swiftly on. "So Kodalov does all that while making himself look like the reasonable people's saviour. And then bam."

"The country is hit by a coup."

"One that plenty of people won't like, especially given the nature of it, but one that most people will probably tolerate in the end, because they like Kodalov and they don't know the truth of how it came about, or that he killed Zembrovko, who most of them didn't like much anyway." Elizabeth sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her stomach, trying to fit the rest of the puzzle pieces together.

If only she could put together a way out of the embassy as well as she could the thought process for taking a country by force. She wondered what that said about her.

"Well, he certainly seems to have the ambition and lack of morals required for the endeavour," Henry said.

"But not the brains," Elizabeth replied. In her dealings with Gleb Kodalov, she had always found him able to talk a good game, but not bring the substance when it mattered, a fact he typically tried to cover up with macho bluster and bravado of the kind that drove her crazy. She looked down and away. "This was planned by the Russians."

She hated to say it, given the amount of trouble Russia had caused her and Henry over the past year, but there was no getting away from it. She couldn't think of any other option that made sense.

"Looks that way," Henry agreed.

"Probably not the new president, though," Elizabeth clarified. While she didn't know the man well, he seemed a more reasonable prospect to work with than his predecessors at the Kremlin and she couldn't see him being involved when he seemed fairly keen to at least try to normalise ties between their countries. "My guess would be Kodalov had help from the generals loyal to Maria Ostrov and her husband. Some of them were ousted recently and they're pretty bitter about it. They'll have been looking for things to fill their time."

She was fully aware that there were plenty of Russian generals who hated her guts and, free from official ties and obligations, would love to use her as a sitting target while furthering their aims of expansion into Eastern Europe. In Gleb Kodalov they found their puppet, and in her visit to Petria they had found their perfect opportunity to mess with the United States. She hesitated to call it an action of revenge, but she suspected on at least some level, that's what it was.

She felt guilt starting to churn low in her gut at Henry getting caught up – again – in something that largely circled around her, but it was mostly drowned out by the indignation and anger at the fact someone thought that they could do such a thing.

People had _died_ in the palace. They were dying on the streets. Daisy and Jay and some of her DS agents were still missing. How _dare_ Kodalov and his puppet masters do this? How could they –

"Babe?" Henry's palm cupped her cheek and Elizabeth realised that she was breathing fast and shallow, and her heart was starting to race, a sure sign of the start of a panic attack. "Breathe," Henry said.

His gaze found hers and held it, and she brought her hands up to hold onto his arms as he cupped her face in his hands and held her steady. She took his advice and took a few seconds just to breathe. She gave Henry a smile and then she leaned closer to give him a brief kiss. "Thank you."

He looked at her worriedly for a moment before he nodded as though satisfied she was OK. He swallowed. "So Kodalov is the main puppet. But who is the puppet in our embassy?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know. I hope when he calls back that Russell will –"

She never got to finish her sentence because she was interrupted by the sound of an explosion of such force that the foundations of the building shook and dust rained down from the ceiling. At the sound of the blast, Henry lurched forward and hauled Elizabeth into his arms, tugging her out of her chair and down to the floor in the corner between the desk and the wall. "Get down!"

His body pressed hers into the corner and she could hear him breathing harshly in her ear, his breath hot against her skin and his pulse thumping hard as she pressed one hand against his chest. She was sure her own heart was beating fast and hard enough to match his. She could taste the dust and adrenaline in her mouth, her tongue feeling dry and chalky and her gut feeling at once empty and burning with acid. _Oh God, not again._

It took a few seconds for her to realise that the explosion hadn't been in the embassy itself, that while it had obviously been big, the building itself hadn't been hit. Elizabeth disentangled herself slowly from Henry so that she could take stock. The bump on her forehead pulsed, but other than that and feeling a little jarred, she felt fine. "You OK?" she asked Henry, running her hands worriedly over his torso even though she was pretty sure he was fine. She just had to be _sure._

"Fine." His lips brushed over her hairline as he pushed back and held out one hand to help her stand.

A frantic shout came from somewhere outside the room. _"_ _We need the medic – two embassy guards are injured!"_

Her heart sunk. From the direction of the sound of the blast and where the shout had come from, Elizabeth guessed that the explosion had happened directly outside the embassy, most likely just outside the gate. The guards tasked with staffing the gate must have been caught up in it.

"I'll check what's going on." Henry gave her hand a squeeze and then made to let go.

She held onto him, snagging him back, her heart beating wildly. "Henry." The first strands of panic started to rise. He couldn't go. She needed him to stay with her. She didn't know how to be while he was off playing action man, his trip to Pakistan had taught her that much. He couldn't –

He stroked her hair back from her face, fingers lingering at her temple for a moment. "I'll just be a minute. We need to know who's been hurt."

Yeah. Yeah, they did, didn't they? They needed to know the situation, needed to know how bad it was. Elizabeth forced the building panic back down, swallowed it deep down into her stomach and willed it to stay there. "I know."

"Stay here in case Russell calls back, OK? I'll be back in a minute."

"One minute." It may have been selfish, but it was all she could spare.

He nodded. He looked like he understood. "One minute." He kissed her quickly before he dashed to the door, unlocking it and then disappearing through, leaving it ajar behind him.

Elizabeth took in a slow, deep breath and held it. She looked down at the desk and willed the phone to ring. She willed Henry to come back. She willed herself to be useful. She breathed out.

A noise inside the doorway made her look up.

"Andreou," she said as the Regional Security Officer stepped into the room.

"Madam Secretary." He looked over at where she stood next to the desk – the phone.

"What's going on? Who's hurt? Do you need me to-"

Andreou Flack closed the door behind him with a click, cutting her off. He took a step forward.

Elizabeth tensed. Something about the look on the man's face… something didn't feel right. She felt uneasy. She tried to push it aside. "Is it the guards on the gate?"

Another step forward. "Madam Secretary, what are you doing in here?"

The question was innocent enough. There was just something about his demeanour. There had just been an explosion. A bomb, most likely. It had injured embassy staff and shaken the building and left dust in her hair and the taste of it in her mouth and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't quell the slight tremor in her hands or the sense of being on edge. And yet the RSO was calm. Too calm. Elizabeth regarded him cautiously. "It's confidential, so I'm afraid I need you to step out."

Andreou Flack held his ground, seeming to bed in to his position as he stood a few steps in front of her. "You shouldn't be alone," he said. "I'm staying for your security."

That implied her DS agents weren't currently close by enough to usurp his authority, no doubt doing their part to deal with the blast victims and secure the embassy. And that was when she was sure. She steeled herself even as she felt the first hot darts of fear licking at her skin. "Whose security, Andreou?" She glanced at the silent phone on the desk. She willed herself to be calm. "I don't think it's _my_ security you're interested in."

He regarded her with mild interest.

"It was you. You leaked the information."

There was the slightest tic at his jaw that gave away his subtle panic at her assertion.

"Why'd you do it, Andreou?" Her head was starting to spin.

He didn't answer, but his pupils had blown and at his side his hand was engaged in a nervous twitch. Then he stilled completely. Decision made.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself. When she opened them again, she found that Andreou Flack had pulled a gun and trained it on her chest. Her stomach lurched.

He walked towards her.


	14. Chapter 14

THANK YOU to everyone for all your wonderful comments and for continuing to stick with this fic. You are all wonderful beautiful sunbeams and I hope you like this next chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

The funny thing –

No. Not the funny thing.

The awful, disturbing, _terrifying_ thing was that the sight of the gun aiming directly at her heart didn't scare her almost as much as the expression on his face, which was tight and controlled with just the slightest curl of the lip and sheen of sweat at his hairline that suggested he was very much on edge and not nearly as calm as he appeared to be. There was also a steely determination there, and that, at least, was something that they had in common.

The shock of the gun and the look of intent on Andreou Flack's face froze Elizabeth to the spot for several seconds – seconds that she could not afford, because they gave him the time to close the gap between them and by the time her brain had kicked back in and she had opened her mouth to yell for help, he was directly in front of her and he lifted the hand that didn't hold the gun to press a finger to his lips, telling her without words to be quiet.

Still stunned from how quickly events had turned on her and afraid that he had the upper hand and her reason temporarily abandoning her to leave her with only instinct, Elizabeth found herself complying. She bit at the inside of her lip.

Andreou Flack nodded as if to commend her and then dropped his hand to rest it on her shoulder.

She flinched but held her ground. He appeared to be testing the waters and she gave him room to do so, needing more information about how he was planning to operate before doing anything to react against him. Better to bide her time than take a risk so early on.

"What gave me away?" he asked casually, drawing his gun up so he could use the barrel to brush her hair back over her shoulder.

Elizabeth suppressed the shudder at his touch but could do nothing about the hot fear at the feel of the gun against her collarbone. She swallowed. "You gave yourself away when you walked into this room and shut the door behind you," she said. It was the truth: she had genuinely been uncertain who was to blame for leaking her schedule until he blew his own cover.

He quirked an eyebrow like he was interested in further explanation but made no further moves.

"But the protests were what tipped me off to a mole in the embassy, if that's what you're asking. With the benefit of hindsight it turns out they were a little bit too convenient." Judging the Regional Security Officer unlikely to shoot her any time soon, Elizabeth took a step back.

He let her go willingly, and it was only when her back hit the wall that she understood why. Flack simply followed her, closing the gap between them again and smiling as she realised she had nowhere else to go.

 _Crap._

"I'm going to make a deal with you," he said, the hand that held the gun coming up to rest on the wall next to her head. The tone of his voice was light and reasonable. "See, I don't want to shoot you."

Her voice was hard and pissed off. "See, I think it's more that you _can't_ shoot me, because if you did everyone would know it was you."

He smiled at her. "So you get it. No one, Madam Secretary, is going to know that it was me, do you understand? We're going to go back to work and you're going to forget about this. It wasn't me, are we clear?"

"I'm clear about what you want. But I'm sorry, Mr Flack, I can't agree to your terms. I wouldn't be doing my job if I did." The Secretary of State was not about give in to a traitor, and Elizabeth McCord was not about to let a bastard have his way. Even if he did have a gun.

Flack's eyes flickered and darkened and she knew it had been a risk, albeit one she had to take. She steeled herself for his reaction and the violence she suspected to be coming her way. He brought his free arm up and she wasn't sure whether he was intending to hit her or box her in but she wasn't about to wait and find out, her own hand snapping up reflexively to grab his wrist in a tight grip, the slap of her skin against his echoing around the room. " _Don't_ ," she snapped.

And that was when Henry materialised in her vision just behind Flack's shoulder. His face was murderous and he didn't hesitate as he wrapped one arm across the man's chest and with his other hand instilled a steely grip on the wrist of the hand that held the gun. He twisted Flack's wrist hard, making the man cry out in pain and surprise. Flack tried to pull his hand away from Henry's grip, his hold on the gun loosening until the weapon slid from his fingers and hit the floor at Elizabeth's feet with a thud. Henry hauled Flack away from her, shoving him backwards and then putting himself between Elizabeth and Flack. "Get away from my wife."

His voice was a snarl.

A grin spread slowly across Flack's face as though he was thrilled at the prospect of facing down Henry McCord in full blown protective fight mode. He opened his mouth to speak.

Elizabeth cut him off. "I want answers, Mr Flack." She stepped forward and stood next to Henry, feeling her confidence return along with her husband's presence. She touched one hand lightly to Henry's back, a silent gesture of thanks, seeking strength in the feel of him.

Andreou Flack chuckled. "I'm sure you do."

"And yet none are forthcoming."

Flack was breathing hard. He turned away and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

Elizabeth noticed it the moment that he did. Henry, too.

The door to the room was stood open, no doubt from when Henry had come back through it from checking out the situation outside. That was good. She wanted the door open. Flack, for obvious reasons, had other ideas. He stepped back.

Henry followed, reaching out to grab the other man but Flack was faster, stretching out one arm to catch the door and push it closed just as Henry got hold of his shoulder. Flack pushed back, making Henry stumble as the RSO put his shoulder to his chest and shoved as hard as he could while Henry grappled for purchase, trying to keep hold of him.

"Henry!" Elizabeth couldn't stop the cry from leaving her throat as she watched her husband stumble back and heard him chuff out a breath at the force of the impact of Flack's shoulder against his sternum. She darted forward but Henry's urgent response stopped her in her tracks.

"Elizabeth, stay back." He righted his balance just as Flack managed to use the couple of seconds he had bought himself to turn the lock on the door, trapping them all in the communications suite.

The soundproof communications suite. Shit.

The two men stared each other down. Elizabeth watched the play of muscles beneath Henry's shirt as he stood tense and ready for attack – ready _to_ attack. She watched Flack do the same. The younger man had both youth and size on his side, but Henry had the experience – and the back-up.

 _The gun._

Elizabeth shifted her weight and glanced down at where the gun had fallen, only a couple of steps away. Keeping her eyes on Flack, she slowly took a half-step to her left, towards the gun, careful not to make any sudden movements.

Flack's eyes flicked away from Henry and landed on her. She stilled, her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounding like mad in her chest, practically in time with the fast beat of the helicopter overhead.

"Tell me why you did it, Andreou." One more try.

The man shook his head as though he thought she was stupid. Then he looked down at the gun just behind her, calculating. He lunged towards it. He was caught by Henry's arms around his middle and Elizabeth was just reaching to grab the gun when Flack managed to get his arms free from Henry's grip and he shoved her husband back, forcing him away and following it up with a swift, quick punch that obviously caught Henry unaware. It wasn't a hard hit, mostly glancing off his cheekbone, but Elizabeth could see the surprise on his face. He hadn't seen it coming, and it gave Flack the time he needed to follow it up a split second later with a vicious fist to Henry's gut that made him shout out and drop to the floor, curling in on himself as his face contorted with pain.

"Henry!" The gun forgotten at the sight of her husband collapsing to the ground, Elizabeth felt both the worry and the rage spilling out of her and she didn't stop to think as she dashed the few steps over to Henry's side, feeling panic building up inside her the longer he failed to move. She was just reaching down to him, sliding one hand onto his shoulder, when Flack grabbed her from behind.

* * *

It hurt to breathe. That was what he was aware of. It hurt to breathe, he was severely winded, the blood was rushing in his head and he really, really needed to move. He was aware of Elizabeth's hand touching his shoulder and of her presence next to him, but it was when Flack grabbed her and she let out a noise of panicked distress that Henry's desperation really kicked in.

He could hear Elizabeth struggling against Flack's grip and he needed to get up, needed to help her, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate with him. He groaned in pain as moving his arm out from beneath his body caused a hot stabbing sensation in his joints and his gut. He couldn't get off the floor and it took all his energy and coordination to roll onto his side so he could see what was going on.

A couple of metres away, Elizabeth struggled hard against Flack's arms wrapped tight around her torso before she suddenly stilled and then jerked down with everything she had, dislodging his grip enough that she was able to shove his arms off her and stumble a couple of steps away. She looked furious.

Yeah, that was the woman Henry married. She knew how to take care of herself.

But that didn't stop him from wanting to protect his wife. He just needed to get himself up off the damn floor.

"Are you looking to add assault to your charges of aiding and abetting the enemy?" Elizabeth asked Flack. "Because if you are you're making a great case against yourself."

She sounded so calm, so collected and in control. It was only through decades of knowing her and being married to her that Henry was able to detect the slightest bit of insecurity in her tone. Yet it was her body language that really gave her away. She held her hands out like she was expecting an attack – not an unreasonable assumption, in the circumstances - her nerves obvious. But still she held her ground, maintaining eye contact with Flack as he took a step towards her.

"All you have to do is agree, Madam Secretary."

Henry frowned, unsure what Elizabeth was supposed to be agreeing to, wondering what Flack had said to her before he had come back into the room to find the other man with his wife backed up into the wall and the gun in his hand aiming lazily at her head. Like it was no big deal. Henry was planning to make him pay for that.

"I can't do that," Elizabeth said determinedly.

Flack stepped towards her. She hesitated.

Henry needed to move, needed to help her. He willed his body to cooperate. It refused. He felt a lick of panic darting up his spine. _Mind into matter_ , he thought. _Move._

Nothing happened. Henry's hand clenched involuntarily into a fist. He felt the dampness of his own palm closing in on itself; the fear he felt manifesting itself in the form of sweat on his skin and an inability to catch his breath, although the punch to his gut hadn't exactly helped with that. An emotion triggered in his mind turning itself, quite literally, into matter.

His fear made physical.

Wait, no. Not quite. It was more than that as he watched Andreou Flack march forward and back Elizabeth into the wall and she stumbled, held up only by the press of the other man's body and his hands on the wall either side of her head.

It wasn't just fear Henry felt as he lay on the floor of the communications suite unable to persuade his body to find the coordination to get up, unable to put himself in between Elizabeth and Flack as he so wished to do and then to put his fist hard and swift and deadly into the other man's face. No, not just fear: it was terror.

Flack was smiling and swaying towards Elizabeth as he braced his palms against the wall. She looked down and across at Henry, catching his gaze. He saw the fear in her and the worry, but he also saw something in her eyes that suggested she'd had an idea. From the way she sought out his gaze, he guessed that the idea may be a risky one.

The terror he felt put itself on pause, still present, still filling him up and threatening to overwhelm him, but suspended temporarily as he waited to see how that look in Elizabeth's eye played out.

She looked away from him then, looked back at Flack as he boxed her in against the wall. She smiled softly at him, which made Flack's own smile falter slightly and his body back away the smallest fraction from hers as he tipped back his head to get a better look at her face. That small fraction of space was all she needed.

Elizabeth's smile widened into a grin as she lifted her hands to Flack's shoulders to steady herself, placing her palms deliberately against him, the same way she might hold onto Henry to retain her balance when she stretched up to kiss him. She leaned in close to Flack's face.

Then she shifted her stance and unceremoniously rammed her knee into the man's groin.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Henry or the gun.

That was the choice Elizabeth faced after crushing Andreou Flack's testicles with her knee. Lunge to the left and go for the gun, or go to the right and aim for where Henry lay curled in on himself, struggling to get up after the punch Flack had landed in his gut.

One of those things might help to save her life. The other thing _was_ her life. And she had to save both of them.

She went left, shoving Flack away from her as he bent double and cried out at the force of the impact. She looked down for the gun. Damn. One of them must have kicked it in the struggle and it had skittered a little way under a desk that sat in the corner of the room, a couple of metres away from where she stood. Elizabeth went for it, feeling her body protest at the sudden burst of speed after her struggle with Flack, and then feeling her shoulder joint burn as Flack managed to snag hold of her wrist and jerk her back towards him.

The momentum she had built up worked against her as he pulled on her wrist, causing her to whirl around and lose her balance, sending her stumbling back towards the man, who had managed to straighten up enough to catch her in his arms as she careened into him. Her face pressed into his shoulder and she smelled the sharp tang of sweat as she struggled against the grip, her lungs protesting as she failed to draw in fresh oxygen.

Elizabeth stamped down blindly, hearing Flack shout in pain as the heel of her shoe connected with the top of his foot, and it bought her just enough room to pull back and suck in a breath before he grabbed her hair tightly in one hand and held her head close to his so he could snarl into her face. "And you wonder why people are protesting you, _bitch_."

A couple of metres away, Henry was struggling to get up, his efforts increasing at the hostility of Flack's words. A growl escaped him as the insult left Flack's lips and Elizabeth glanced across to find her husband's face furious as he fixed Flack with a glare that no doubt would have stopped the man in his tracks – if he had been looking his way. The Regional Security Officer was still looking at Elizabeth with a cross between contempt and satisfaction.

She should shrink back. That was what she should probably do. Flack was stronger than she was – most definitely a physical threat. He had already proven that. Plus she had to help Henry and there was no way she'd be able to do that if she fought Flack and lost. But Elizabeth McCord was not given to backing down, and she was sure that she had an advantage over Andreou Flack.

More than one, actually.

"I know why they're protesting me," she said to Flack, careful to keep her voice controlled, doing her best to project the image of the calm Secretary of State even as it took almost all of her effort to quell the trembles that threatened to overtake her frame. "What I don't get is why you are."

Flack adjusted his grip on her, one hand wrapped in her hair and one arm around her in something that might have been close to a lover's embrace – if not for the hostility and definite feeling of menace in his hold. Elizabeth instinctively struggled against him as his face loomed close to hers. He grinned. "That's why."

She frowned, confused.

He practically spat the words at her. "That _arrogance_. You always know best."

She spat hers right back. "Screw you." She brought her hands between them and shoved as hard as she could at Flack's stomach, quick and harsh, listening to the fast chuff of breath forced from his lungs as he was winded by the shove. Elizabeth pulled back from him, pushing him away as she did, taking advantage of his weakened state and pleased that shoving her knee into his bollocks early in the game had worked to give her one of her advantages. It was hard for him to take her down when he could barely even stand up straight.

Served the bastard right.

Elizabeth darted towards the gun under the desk, her focus narrowing to the aim to get it and then hold it on Flack until help arrived, and she was just bending to grab it when she heard Henry's shout.

"Elizabeth!"

The panicked tone of his voice prompted her to look up and around. Flack was right behind her. Damn. A split second. She had only taken her eyes off him for a split second. Was she going to have to actually shoot the man before he would stay down? She lashed out before he could reach for her, pre-empting his inevitable attempt to grab her with a hit to his face. The hit was admittedly weak; she couldn't get a good angle with him crowding in behind her and she had used her left hand because it was closer to his face and she only really caught him with the back of her fist, but she felt the collision with his cheekbone and she was certain that they would each have a bruise as a result. It also startled him enough that she was able to dodge to the left and out from his looming shadow so that she could turn around to face him.

He caught her just as she turned and they grappled together for several seconds, Elizabeth struggling to keep her balance as Flack used his larger form and weight against her, his hands clamping tight on her arms to stop her from getting away. She felt pain bursting along her left forearm as she tried to pull it out of Flack's grip but he just clung on tighter – until, suddenly, he let her go and she careened backwards into the wall with the momentum of it, her head striking the cement with enough force to send her vision spinning for a moment. Flack used the opportunity to take the advantage and pushed her hard, sending her falling to her knees.

Elizabeth stayed there on the floor for a moment, her ears ringing from the impact and muffling Henry's worried cry from across the room, a worried cry that turned frantic just as Elizabeth felt a rush of air coming towards her and then Flack's shoe collided with her ribs.

Groaning, she rolled onto her back and looked up at the man as he stood above her, smiling down on her with an expression that could only be described as manic. Her ribs were protesting rather loudly and it was impossible to hold in the whimper that bubbled up in her throat as she breathed in and pain bloomed hot and sharp in her side.

She gave herself a second. Closed her eyes. Thought it through. The kick had been hard, but not that hard. She had hit her head against the wall hard enough to feel it still, but in truth she'd had worse accidents involving low-hanging kitchen cabinets. Her body was aching but she had plenty still to fight for. It wasn't that bad. She'd be fine. She _was_ fine.

OK. _OK._ Think.

Elizabeth was very aware of Henry a few feet away. He seemed to be recovering from the fist to the gut that had knocked the air right out of him. He was on his knees now instead of curled in on himself on the ground, and he'd got his breath back enough to shout a warning when Flack came for her. So he was OK. They were both OK. That boosted her confidence, especially given that Flack, while obviously a skilled fighter, still couldn't stand up straight himself.

And he might have been able to keep secret his position as a traitor to his government for a time, but his secret was out now. He hadn't hidden his tracks well enough to stop Elizabeth from figuring out there was something there to find. He had lost control, in more ways than one. He was prone to making mistakes.

Like underestimating her and Henry.

He could be beaten. Eyes still closed, Elizabeth reached out with one hand to where Flack stood over her, curving her palm around his calf as though she was reaching out blindly in pain for something to hold onto. She schooled her face into an expression of pain and defeat, one that she thought the man with the giant ego would go for. It had the added bonus of being partly honest; the pain was in part real. She let her breaths come loud and heavy, and resisted the urge to turn onto her side, instead opening her eyes to look up at Flack and letting herself appear vulnerable.

This was one of those times when appearance mattered.

It worked.

Flack crouched down beside her after a moment, stroking her hair back from her forehead and his gaze softening as he thought that he had won. "It's OK," he said. "There's no shame in defeat."

Elizabeth blinked up at him. "You really believe that?"

The words may have been slightly pleading but her tone was anything but. She was genuinely asking the question.

She didn't give him time to answer. "I hope for your sake you do."

Flack frowned. Elizabeth lunged for him.

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck as she pushed him backwards, using her body weight and his unstable position balancing against his haunches to knock him off-centre and send him crashing back to the floor. She kept her arms around his neck, stopping him from getting purchase even as he brought his hands up to try and pry her off.

She clung on with everything she had, could feel herself starting to slip, could feel his strength and power starting to win out against her, hoped that she had read things right, hoped that any second now –

Henry appeared next to her, Flack's gun in his hand and levelled at the man's head. He was still breathing shakily but his hold on the gun was steady and his intent was clear. "I thought I told you to get away from my wife," he said. Then he glanced at Elizabeth and his expression softened slightly. "Because otherwise she'll take you down and ruin you." His voice was full of pride.

On the other side of the room, the door opened. "Madam Secretary, I'm sorry to interrupt, but – shit." Matt stopped dead in the doorway, and gave away the extent of his shock at the scene in front of him when it took him several long seconds to process it before he thought to pull his gun.

* * *

The mood in the Oval Office hovered somewhere between frosty and full-blown Arctic winter. Russell Jackson stood in front of the Resolute desk, feeling weary as he looked down at the thinning hair on top of Conrad Dalton's head as the President read the latest briefing paper from Ellen Hill, the one that included the addendum on the suspected culprits of the betrayal within the US embassy in Petria.

"Let me get this straight, Russell." President Dalton's tone was carefully cultivated and measured; it was the voice he used when he was just barely keeping a lid on his anger.

The Chief of Staff gave no outward sign of being affected by it, but he hoped that the President could keep the lid on, not just because a chewing out by Conrad Dalton was not fun, but also because they didn't have that kind of time. Unfortunately, Russell suspected that the news about the embassy mole on top of the Russian helicopter and the wider situation meant that he'd be dealing with at least one major presidential rant before sundown. In a way, it was amazing it hadn't happened already. "Sir?" he prompted, when it seemed that the President was waiting for acknowledgement.

"You're telling me that someone in our embassy leaked Bess's schedule?"

"I am, Mr President."

"That they told the protestors where she was going to be."

Russell wasn't quite sure if Conrad had a point he was trying to get to or if he was just processing out loud. Either way, he wished that he'd hurry it along. "Yes," he confirmed.

The President held up the document Russell had just gifted him. "This is the list of suspects."

"Yes."

"Including both the ambassador and the RSO. Who's your money on?"

Truth be told, having read the intelligence that Ellen Hill had provided him with, Russell had found the situation a tough one to call. He shrugged. "I'm sure Bess will figure it out and tell us soon enough. If she ever answers the damn phone."

President Dalton looked up at that, a frown crossing his face. "What?"

"I tried calling her back when that intelligence came through. No answer." There was probably an innocent explanation as to why his phone call had gone unanswered – he understood that communications in Petria were currently a little unreliable given the huge demand on a network that, compared with other nations, wasn't really all that sophisticated in the first place and definitely wasn't sophisticated enough to withstand a crisis in the age of Facebook and Twitter and instant updates. That was probably it. Yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"Was she expecting your call?"

"She was. But the situation is fluid, sir, and the communication channels –"

The President held up one hand to cut him off. "I understand, Russell. Well, while we're trying to get through to Elizabeth – and keep on that as a priority, will you? - let's see if we can get another call through to Petria."

"OK. Who are you calling?"

"I think it's about time I called to congratulate the new President, don't you?"

* * *

Everything had happened fast once Matt had pulled his gun on Andreou Flack, crossing the floor in four quick strides to restrain the man, shouting for back-up as he did. "Ma'am, Dr McCord, you OK?"

"Henry needs a medic," Elizabeth said, turning away from Flack to properly look at Henry, who still held the gun clenched in one hand and only released it when Matt very deliberately took it from him.

Her husband opened his mouth to comment – or possibly protest about the medic – when Frank and a couple of the local security guys arrived as back-up and there was a brief commotion as they secured Flack between them and hustled him out of the communications suite with a rushed agreement to hold him in one of the interrogation rooms off the security hub. Matt lingered in the doorway, waiting for Elizabeth and Henry.

"We'll be there in a minute, Matt," Elizabeth told him, leaving no room for argument. She really needed a minute alone with her husband so she could convince herself that he was OK, and to decompress after what had just happened.

It was obvious that the DS agent had questions and was reluctant to leave them alone, but he nodded after a moment and retreated to the other side of the door, pulling it to behind him. Elizabeth would have liked him to have closed it properly, but she could live with the compromise. No doubt her agents would be beating themselves up right now that Flack had managed to get her alone, away from them. They shouldn't, though. They shouldn't have had to worry about threats from their own people inside the embassy and nor could they have predicted the injuries at the front gate that would have split their resources. Still, if leaving the door ajar helped Matt feel better, Elizabeth would let him have it.

Besides, she was too concerned about Henry to worry about it for too long. Her hands were skimming over his face and torso as soon as they were alone, checking him for damage. "Oh God, Henry. Baby, are you OK? I'm so sorry, it's my fault, I –"

"Elizabeth," Henry cut her off. He shook his head slightly. "Not your fault. _I'm_ sorry, babe. I should've –"

It was her turn to cut him off. "If you say that you should have protected me, Henry…"

"But I should have."

She looked down at his chest, watching the ripples in the fabric of his shirt as she smoothed her fingers over his sternum. It was an argument she wouldn't win and so she chose to stop it before it started because, really, all that currently mattered was that they were all right, and they had taken Flack down together. Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily, the stress of the fight they had just endured making itself known. It made her body ache. She closed her eyes. Her brain showed her a memory of Flack coming towards her with his gun trained on her chest, and followed it up with the memory of Henry sinking breathless to the floor.

A sob erupted from her throat unbidden, and then another, and then the tears started and Henry pulled her in close, cradling her in his arms and burying his face in her hair, his own breathing shaky enough and stuttering enough that she thought he might be crying, too. He pressed kisses onto the top of her head and one hand came up to thread gently through her hair, so soft and caring where Flack's recent touch had been harsh and unkind.

Elizabeth sucked in a breath and felt a stab of pain from her ribs, making her grimace and clutch Henry tighter to her.

"It's not just me who needs a medic, babe," he said, his voice low and scratchy in her ear.

She shook her head no. She didn't want a medic. She didn't want to sit and be examined and prodded only to be told what she already knew, that she'd be fine and that a couple of ibuprofen in the meantime might not go amiss. But she thought that she might put up with all of that if it meant Henry capitulated and saw the medic, too. Assuming there even was one still in the embassy.

She allowed herself a few more seconds to just stand with Henry and soak him in, keeping her arms securely around him and revelling in the feel of his own arms tight around her. Her heart was still banging against her ribs and she kept her eyes open in an effort to stop the memories of the fight assaulting her again. There'd be time to deal with all of that later.

For now there was business to attend to: they had identified their traitor, and that gave them something to work with.

"I need to talk to Flack," she mumbled into Henry's chest, reluctant to extract herself from his embrace even as duty called and her curiosity burned. She knew that she couldn't afford to linger much longer; the noise from the protest outside seemed to have grown in scope and volume, and they were running out of time in the embassy.

Henry's arms flexed against her, and she knew the pain in his voice when he answered her wasn't from the punch he had taken. "No, you don't."

She pulled back enough that she could look up at his face. "He needs to be interrogated. We need to ask him –"

"Let one of the agents do it."

She shook her head. It hurt. She ignored the pain, focused on Henry. "He won't talk to them." She was sure of it. At any rate, they didn't have time to try it and find out. They needed to go in at the top. "Henry. It will be OK."

He looked down at her, slid one hand over her ribcage until it rested over the spot that Flack had kicked. The warmth helped to soothe the pain there. Then he stroked his fingers over the back of her head where it had hit the wall, and wrapped his other hand gently around the wrist that Flack had yanked against so harshly. "This is not OK," he said.

Elizabeth sighed. She knew that she couldn't dismiss Henry's worry, especially not when it was justified, and not when his instinct would be to put himself between her and danger, despite being fully aware that she was entirely capable of handling herself. It was just in his nature to protect those that he loved.

Well. It was in hers, too. She wanted to put herself between danger and her husband. And this was something that she could do. That she _had_ to do. "I know," she acknowledged his comment. "But he'll be restrained, and Matt or Frank can stay in the room. But I need to talk to him, Henry. It's my job."

It was also something that she was good at; her long experience in the CIA meant she was adept at persuading people to give her information that they didn't really want to give. She was a professional, and despite the special circumstances, she was currently at work. She wasn't about to sit this one out just because the bastard hit her. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

There was another loud roar from the street outside the embassy and the muffled yet unmistakeable sound of gunfire not far away. "He might be able to give us answers."

Henry closed his eyes briefly and blindly pressed a desperate kiss to her forehead. "OK. But only if there's a way I can watch."

That was a condition she could live with. "Let's go." They didn't have any time left to waste.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

It wasn't often that President Conrad Dalton was left waiting for someone to come to the phone – usually it was they who were desperate to speak to _him_ – and it could have been a little awkward, had he not chosen to use the couple of minutes waiting for Gleb Kodalov to come to the receiver in a productive manner.

By productive, he of course meant letting his anger fester and grow as he turned the situation over in his head.

He sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, aware of Russell Jackson sitting on the couch pretending to be re-reading the briefing report that explained in great detail the height of the shit mountain that was currently coalescing in Petria.

Maybe coalescing was the wrong word. Exploding, perhaps.

"Hold for the President," said a voice on the other end of the phone line, in broken English that was heavily coloured by a Petrian-Russian twang.

Finally. There were a couple of moments of static and the sound of shuffling as the phone in Petria was passed along. Conrad was pretty sure the call had been patched through to someone's ancient, dodgy cell phone, and wouldn't be surprised if the signal dropped out at any moment.

"President Dalton," Kodalov said as he finally appeared on the other end of the line.

Conrad decided it wasn't the time for niceties, or even formalities. "Here's what's going to happen, Gleb."

* * *

When Elizabeth strode into the room that held Andreou Flack, there was no way he would detect even the smallest hint of discomfort on her face – or any other emotion. She was practiced at keeping her cool when she had to, and this time she most definitely had to, even as inwardly the stress of the entire situation threatened to get the better of her and her ribs were protesting loudly with every sure, confident step she took.

All that mattered was what Flack read on her face, which would be exactly what she let him read and nothing more.

The room was small and slightly frayed around the edges like many of the chancery's operational areas, but it was adequate for its purpose. The plain walls held no character, and the furniture was drab, the table bolted to the floor. There was even a one-way mirror that let Henry and the others watch from the next room. Like most of the rest of the building, the interrogation suite hadn't been updated since communism was still the main ideology of the land, and most likely hadn't been used since that time, either. Still. It did what it needed to.

Which was to temporarily incarcerate and unsettle a suspect. Or, in the current case, a thoroughly guilty bastard.

Flack's eyes fixed on Elizabeth as soon as she entered the room. She very deliberately didn't look at him, instead focusing on taking her seat and glancing inside the slim cardboard folder she had brought in with her, and exchanging a glance with Matt, who stood against the back wall with his eyes trained on the back of Andreou Flack's head, staring at the traitor with a death glare.

Maybe she shouldn't bother interrogating the man. Maybe she should just turn his chair around and let her DS agent stare him down until he cracked.

Then again, that probably wouldn't be sporting.

She waited as long as she possibly could, right until the very last moment, when Flack had opened his mouth to break the silence – to say something flattering and charming about her, no doubt – before she said anything. Elizabeth flicked her gaze up to see that the Regional Security Officer was suffering from a breakout of sweat at his hairline and his face was drained of colour. He was hunched in on himself, sitting awkwardly. No doubt that was partly down to the handcuffs binding his hands behind his chair, but also partly due to the fact her knee had not so long ago smashed hard into his testicles. Oops.

"I only have one question," she said, the split second before Flack tried himself to speak.

His tongue had already started to form whatever words he was intending to say, and it took him a couple of moments to backtrack enough to take in what she had said. His head tilted to the side in mimicry of Kodalov's own enquiring expression that drove Elizabeth nuts. "And what might that be?" Flack asked, sounding nonchalant and deliberately condescending.

Like he thought that would bother her. Like she hadn't worked in the CIA for years before she became the Secretary of State. Like she'd never questioned anybody before, or hell, like she'd never dealt with a drunk, sexist moron in a bar. He had to know it would have no effect on her.

Finally, she looked up at Flack properly and held his gaze. She spoke clearly. "What do you want?"

The question was apparently unexpected enough that it threw him and he wasn't able to conceal a small frown that creased his brow for several seconds before he caught himself and smoothed out his expression. He tilted his head again but refrained from answering.

That was OK. If she was in his position, she wouldn't answer either. Not a question as broad and encompassing as that. Only an idiot would volunteer an answer to it so early on. Still. She was certain that by the time she was done with him, Flack would have given her the answer even if he didn't mean to.

She just hoped that he gave up his answers fast, because her security guys were getting increasingly twitchy about the situation in the street outside the embassy, and she was aware that they didn't have long left before they really needed to move.

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair – carefully, mindful of her ribs, but also mindful to keep a calm, collected expression on her face. She bit at the inside of her lip when her body protested at being forced to relax in the uncomfortable plastic chair. "I'll tell you what I want," she said to Flack. "I want a few things, actually. Worldwide gender equality, for instance, and a decent cup of coffee. I also want Gleb Kodalov brought to justice for what he's done, and I want to know who's behind this coup. I want the people of Petria to have a peaceful, stable, democratic nation to call home. And, selfishly, Andreou, I want to go home. I'm supposed to be on a plane right now somewhere over the Atlantic, but instead, I'm here, talking to you while the street outside is filled with people who hate me. So tell me what it is that you want so that I can go home. And don't mess me around, because as you've already discovered, it won't end well for you if you do."

No response.

She hadn't expected one. "You fucked up, Andreou."

There was no verbal answer but the involuntary twitch of his eyebrow gave away the man's annoyance.

"Stoking those protests might have helped rally Kodalov's supporters to his cause, but they also made it possible to figure out that there was a traitor in the embassy. You screwed yourself over."

She gave him a minute to mull that one over, privately quite glad of the time. She was becoming increasingly aware of the fatigue and aches and pains that threatened to overtake her, and the time Flack spent not answering anything she said was time she was able to use to compose herself.

Elizabeth gave him a _gotcha_ smile. "And I don't think you're naïve enough to think that your masters are coming to save you now, otherwise you wouldn't have bothered to confront me over what I knew. You were testing how thoroughly you're in trouble. Which is very, in case you hadn't worked it out. You're acting alone now you've done what they want, and quite frankly you're not very good at it. Think about that, won't you, when you're answering my question. I'll repeat it for you in case you've forgotten. What do you want?"

"The protests were noble, Madam Secretary, and they were necessary."

It wasn't an answer to her question, at least not a direct one, but it was a start. She quirked an eyebrow and gave the man the floor to speak.

"You ask me what I want? I want this country to be free."

"You think this is free?" She gestured around her, encompassing the whole sorry situation they found themselves in. "You're confusing lawless violence with freedom. Trust me, Andreou, it's not the same thing."

"Nor does free trade necessarily equal freedom, but you seem to forget that yourself. You and your president."

She was about to retort that she wasn't about to get into an ideological argument with him, but then she thought it through a little more, thought about the locations of the protests that had plagued her visit to Petria, and thought about how free trade was a relatively young idea in this country. How foreign investment except in the guise of Soviet rule was an unusual thing here. "This is about the power plant."

The look on Flack's face suggested she'd guessed correctly. "Partly. A US company swooping in to make millions might be free _something_ , but it certainly wasn't the choice of the people of Petria."

"You think the people of Petria preferred the devastating, deadly fire from the coal-powered plant that was there before the US-owned plant was built?"

Flack scoffed as though he was disgusted with her. He craned forward in his chair, straining against the cuffs that restrained him. "See, that right there is why I'm here. It's about what I told you before. That _arrogance_. You always know best."

"So it's an ideological thing."

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug as if to confirm her statement.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think that's it. Not entirely. Not with you. If it was completely ideological you wouldn't be panicking now you've been caught. You'd accept it as a sacrifice to your cause. But I think you're scared. I think you're scared you've been hung out to dry."

Flack swallowed, giving himself away.

Maybe it was partly ideology. Maybe that was how he had sold his actions to himself, validated them in his own mind. Maybe being in Petria for so long had turned his allegiance. But that wasn't the complete picture. Elizabeth took a guess – partly educated, partly wild calculation. "How much are the old Russian generals paying you?" She grinned. "Not enough, I'll bet. Not enough now that it's all over for you. Not enough to make it worth the risk."

Flack looked down and away, a sure sign that she had guessed right. The Regional Security Officer, like so many before him, was in it at least partly for the cash. Maybe he was naïve after all.

"No one else can help you, Andreou," she said softly. "Just me. I'm all you've got, which I can imagine is awkward for you, considering you just beat up me and my husband and so I'm not feeling all that _gracious_ towards you right now. But I'll admit. I'm feeling desperate. Tell me how we get out of here, and I _won't_ leave you here to explain to your masters how you blew your own cover."

Flack said nothing.

She had been so sure that would work, that the threat of being left behind to explain himself to whomever he was working for would make him cough up. After all, at least in the custody of the US government, he knew he'd get a fair trial. Elizabeth doubted he'd get the same from Gleb Kodalov and his puppetmasters. As soon as they needed a scapegoat, which would be very soon indeed, they'd hang him out to dry. He'd be lucky to get a bullet to the head.

Flack had to know that. But still… nothing.

Elizabeth breathed out slowly in lieu of the frustrated sigh she really wanted to give. She thought for a moment, and the seed of an idea had just started to take hold when the door to the room opened, prompting her to turn around to see Henry step through.

She frowned at the sight of him; they had agreed – rather, she had told him – that he would stay in the viewing room on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Andreou Flack's eyes lit up as Henry came in. No doubt he thought he'd be able to use Elizabeth's main weakness against her – again.

Henry stopped beside her chair and leaned down, his fists against the table as he fixed Flack in his sights. "Answer her question, Mr Flack."

What the hell was he doing? As much as she appreciated the support, having her husband come in and interrupt her interrogation completely destroyed her credibility, made her look weak. Elizabeth felt annoyance flare within her; it died down as soon as it had started. Henry had to know what it looked like. He had to know what it would make Flack think. He had to have decided it was worth it. She thought she got it… he must have seen the flash of an idea on her face and was giving her time to think. She bit her tongue and regarded Flack coolly, letting Henry have the floor for a moment while she started to turn her new idea over in her head.

"What's this, the cavalry?" Flack said, a spark of glee entering his tone. No doubt he thought it was his lucky day. The poor woman can't hack the interrogation so her husband comes to bail her out.

Beside her, Henry tensed. "Answer the question," he demanded. "How do we get out of this building?"

"There's a perfectly good door that leads out onto the street."

"You know that's not what I mean." Henry straightened up and strolled a couple of steps closer to Flack, stopping just outside of headbutting range. "You knew what was going to happen tonight. You wouldn't have gone along with it without having an escape route in place. So tell me. What is it?"

No answer but a smile.

"Damn it, Flack, there has to be a route out of this building. _Tell_ me what it is."

Enough. Elizabeth had every faith in Henry's interrogation skills, although what she did next might suggest otherwise. The man obviously wasn't going to crack any time soon – unless, perhaps, they forced him to. She made her decision.

She turned to face the one-way mirror. "Helena?" she said, feeling certain that the ambassador would be watching. She tipped her head, beckoning Helena Garfield into the room.

The ambassador appeared in the doorway a moment later, the little interrogation room starting to become quite full. "Ma'am?" she said.

"I need you to do something for me." Elizabeth kept her eyes on Flack as she spoke, watching his reactions closely.

"Anything."

"Contact Mark Strong, the boss of our new power plant. Keep calling him until you get through."

Helena Garfield raised her eyebrows at the request but didn't protest. "What's the message, Ma'am?" she asked neutrally.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. "Tell him to shut the plant down."

* * *

President Conrad Dalton dropped the phone receiver back into its cradle and then stood quietly next to his desk, needing just a moment to compose himself after the combative call with the self-declared President of Petria.

"Do you feel dirty now?" Russell asked from his position on the couch, not bothering to look up from the briefing memo that still rested on his lap, the one he had been pretending to read while pretending not to listen to Conrad's side of the phone call.

Conrad looked down at the old-fashioned tape recorder that sat on his desk. He pressed the button to rewind the tape it held, watching the little machine work and using it as an excuse not to answer the question from his chief of staff. Then he ejected the tape and slid it into a plastic case. He thought about the phone call.

 _"_ _Unless you want this conversation made public, Gleb, I suggest you follow my instructions."_

He looked up to find Russell had crossed the room silently to stand on the opposite side of the desk. He didn't meet the man's eye. Russell might be the king of backroom deals and doing what was necessary to win, but Conrad wasn't comfortable with what they had just done: made a recording of the call to hold to ransom, and also made a tacit agreement with Gleb Kodalov that he could keep his presidency.

For now. With conditions.

Russell was still waiting for an answer to his question.

Conrad didn't have one that he was prepared to articulate. "Hopefully it's bought Elizabeth some time," he said instead. He looked away.

Russell had his answer.


	17. Chapter 17

Thank you, as ever, for all the lovely comments and to everyone reading this, especially as the wheels of the plot are looking ever less stable haha. I hope you like this chapter x

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Why had she said that?

Henry couldn't figure it out. He stood in front of Andreou Flack and watched the hint of glee start to spread across the man's face at Elizabeth's order to shut down the power plant, and wondered what his wife was thinking. He was sure she had her reasons, but he couldn't work out what they were. Couldn't put together the thought process she had gone through to propose shutting down the US-owned power plant as the solution to their problem, when she knew full well that shutting it down was exactly what the man in front of them wanted.

It was what Gleb Kodalov wanted too.

Well. One of the things he wanted. Maybe Elizabeth was hoping to trade the plant for their safety, for a way out of the embassy. Maybe –

No. That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. It was simpler than that, so simple that he had overlooked it at first.

So had Andreou Flack. Henry watched the glee turn to confusion on the man's face as he watched Elizabeth and no doubt failed to find any hint of defeat in her expression. He watched Flack as he went through the information in his head, trying to unpick it, trying to work out why Elizabeth would so easily give him just what he wanted. He was obviously struggling to put it together.

"You're shutting down the plant?" Flack queried after a minute, clearly fishing for an explanation.

"Yes," Elizabeth said simply.

Henry unobtrusively slunk back towards the wall, standing facing the one-way mirror so that he could see both Elizabeth and Flack, but he kept his eyes on his wife. Even exhausted and suffering the effects of the other man's hits and kicks, she was phenomenal. He was so proud.

Flack stuttered briefly, unsure how to respond. Then he rallied and said, smarmily, "I think you'll find, Madam Secretary, that it's the right thing to do. You have to see that, you –"

"You know, I've spent a lot of time over the past few days learning about that plant," Elizabeth cut in, sounding almost casual as she folded her arms across her chest and settled back in her chair, fixing Flack with a small yet confident smile. Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing. "I've read briefing memos and had meetings, I've visited the plant, had a tour of the grounds and seen some of the regeneration work the company has been investing in since it arrived here eighteen months ago. And you know what I've learned?"

The only answer was the sound of Flack's slightly harsh breathing as his stress levels rose.

Elizabeth leant forwards, the better to verbally skewer the man. "That plant powers almost a million homes in Petria, including a large swathe of Rusapol."

Silence for a moment before Flack's face broke out in a smile as he thought he'd caught her in a falsehood. "No, Rusapol gets its power from –"

"A locally-owned distribution subsidiary? Where do you think they buy their power from now that the coal plant is gone? They've had to diversify, Andreou."

Flack's face fell.

"The plant feeds directly into subsidiary suppliers that power the local electricity grid. Assuming Helena's able to get through to Mark Strong right about now, I'd say we have…" Elizabeth made a show of checking her watch. "Oh, about half an hour before Rusapol goes dark?"

Henry had to work very hard to keep the grin off his face at Elizabeth's killer blow; it wouldn't be the done thing to catch sight of his own reflection gloating in the one-way mirror at the stunt she had pulled. There were cameras filming. He wanted to be on the record sober. He could grin like a maniac at his wife later. He knew she was taking a risk, but her risks had a history of paying off.

Elizabeth placed both hands flat on the table and stood, leaning down over Flack. The move had to be hurting her bruised ribs but she showed no sign of discomfort, only calm competence – a professional with decades of experience and the ability to be ruthless when needed, who had calculated the risks and knew exactly what she was doing. "It's not just Gleb Kodalov who can turn the lights out on the presidential palace at will. This is what pulling the plug on US investment looks like, Andreou. You need to help me now, or else the lights in Rusapol go out tonight."

* * *

"Anything?"

Blake jumped at the sound of her voice and hurriedly hid his phone in his jacket pocket, like he hadn't just been standing suspiciously in a corner of the dimly-lit kitchen with his back turned, the light emitting from the screen of his phone a dead giveaway as to what he was doing.

Sometimes Alison McCord thought that other people thought she was stupid. Just because she was young and liked fashion and make up and was a _girl_ , apparently that meant she had to be treated like a fool. At almost any other time, she would have made an exception for Blake – her mom's assistant was one of the people who actually took her seriously – but she seriously was not in the mood for any obfuscation, however well-intentioned. "You can tell me," she said. "In fact if you have news about my parents, you _have_ to tell me."

Stepping away from the counter, Blake looked a little guilty – and apologetic. "There is no news," he told her. "And believe me when I tell you it's harder to tell you that than it would be to give you new information."

Alison swallowed and nodded, suddenly feeling the need to avoid Blake's eyes as she became very interested in looking down at the kitchen floor. That was what she had been fearing; that there was nothing new to learn. The past hour or so had been quiet in terms of updates; just the news and the internet running the same items over and over, and Blake calling the State Department in quiet desperation and Stevie and Jason sitting in uneasy silence, and Alison desperately trying and failing to resend her text to her parents asking if they were OK.

She got now what people meant when they said it was the not knowing that was the worst thing.

Whatever was going on, she was sure it would be better just to _know_.

Then she thought of something, something she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of doing before. She looked up at Blake. "Hey, can you call the White House?"

He frowned, a little wary, one eyebrow quirking up at her question. "Technically, yes. I can call the White House." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I hate to ask why?"

"Call them," she instructed. "Then give me the phone. I want to talk to the President."

The look on Blake's face was one of weary, sceptical resignation. The look on Alison's face was of adamant determination. Her mother's daughter.

Blake sighed. He dialled.

* * *

 _"_ _You denounced the murder of Artur Zembrovko in your address to the nation, Gleb. You called him a great man who you respected. Now, whether or not you believe that's true, you have to live up to that."_

That was how Conrad Dalton had finally won the argument with Gleb Kodalov, although it wasn't so much winning the argument as it was backing the man into a corner. It had been a fine line to walk; he had for a minute thought of outright accusing the new Petrian leader of the murder Conrad knew him to have committed, but there was a small snag in that plan: the proof, or the lack of it. While he trusted Elizabeth's word absolutely, and while Kodalov no doubt knew that Conrad knew what he had done, he'd had nothing concrete to back up the claim.

And so now they were all complicit in the crime, and Conrad felt as though he could use a shower or eight.

He had retired to the Residence for a few minutes' peace, needing space to clear his head before getting back to business. He sank down into the cushions of a soft, plump couch and slumped forward to rest his head in his hands. He had been close to losing during the phone call with Kodalov, when the other man had realised the President of the United States was going to stay silent on the small matter of his shooting his own president to death, effectively forcing him into the position of endorsing Kodalov's national address and his position as a unity president because he had no reason to oppose him – no reason that he could _admit_ to.

Conrad had floundered for a moment, before he realised that as dirty as the phone call made him feel, at least he had not just murdered a man. It had inspired him to remind Kodalov of his kind words about Zembrovko in his address, and also inspired his next command: that to uphold Zembrovko's beliefs and the fledgling democracy of Petria, Kodalov should announce elections within the week.

And he should reinstate the diplomatic status of Conrad's Secretary of State and make sure she had a clear path out of the embassy – and the country – lest he wanted to find US tanks accompanying his own on the streets of Rusapol.

Apparently he must have sounded convincing – or maybe he just sounded cranky and dangerous – because Kodalov had agreed.

 _President_ Kodalov had agreed.

Of course he had. It meant he got to stay as president, which was what he wanted. And he had something on Conrad, which gave him leverage. It helped his position when he talked of dangerous US involvement in Petria, and spoke out against the new power plant. Yeah. Of course he had agreed with the terms to call an election he'd almost certainly win and to let Elizabeth safely out of the country. It was a small price to pay.

Like he was ever going to refuse. Still, making a recording of the call was enough of a threat to both of them that Conrad was certain Kodalov would keep his word.

Conrad sat up and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. He was aware that he had things to do; the situation in Petria was still volatile no matter what he had just agreed with the country's new President, and he couldn't relax until he knew that the embassy was safe and his Secretary of State was on a plane back home. But he thought things could wait for a few more minutes.

First he needed to try and scrub himself clean after doing a deal with the devil.

* * *

She was worried that it was a play too far. Turning off the lights in Rusapol worked well as a threat, but what if Flack didn't go for it? More importantly, what if Kodalov didn't go for it? Or even if they did, half an hour was a tight window. Things might be OK in the immediate term while most people slept, but plunging the city into darkness could – would – lead to chaos and riots and blame would inevitably be pointed somewhere, and Elizabeth was certain it wouldn't take long for it to be directed at the embassy where they were currently holed up.

Then again, what could Kodalov say against her actions? He didn't want the plant in the first place, and without it, much of Rusapol was struggling for electricity. It was his bed to sleep in. But still, she was worried it was a little too ruthless.

She really needed Andreou Flack to start helping fast so she could call Mark Strong and tell him to flick the power switch back to _on_.

Especially as she could feel herself starting to flag. It was getting harder to focus, her senses were feeling slightly dulled and her side and her head were aching badly. She needed to stop, needed rest. She could see the fatigue on Henry's face, too, as she turned to look at him standing against the wall. He was watching her closely, and from the expression on his face it seemed he had her back with her call on shutting down the plant.

That was good. It had been a risk to go there, still was a risk to go there, but she had to show that she meant business, that she still had power and cards to play, even locked in the embassy with a protest outside and a Russian helicopter overhead. She had to show she wasn't intimidated.

And that was true enough. She wasn't intimidated, not anymore. She was just damn well pissed off, and if turning out the lights was what it took to get Andreou Flack and Gleb Kodalov to take her seriously, then that was what she would do.

Provided, of course, that Mark Strong the power plant boss didn't laugh Helena off the phone when she called to give the order, which was admittedly a possibility. Hopefully his loyalty to country was greater than his desire for profit.

Elizabeth straightened up with the intention of resuming her questioning of Flack, but a hot dart of pain ran down her side, stilling her in her tracks. She pressed one hand to her ribs and it took all of her effort not to make a sound, to keep her face neutral and avoid Flack seeing her pain. She glanced over at Henry, willing him to help her.

He looked worried as he watched her, but he took the hint, stepping forwards to place one hand on the back of Flack's chair and the other on the table, leaning over the man and drawing his attention away from Elizabeth. "Time to do your part," Henry said to Flack, his tone hard and leaving no room for argument. "Remember you're on a timer until the lights go out and Kodalov loses control of power, which he will once it gets out that the US-owned plant shut down because he didn't like its presence in his country. He might get mileage out of being anti-American in his speeches, but the practicality of it is very different and I don't think he's going to like that. And nor are you, if we leave you here and he finds out that you're the reason the lights went off." Henry's face was inches from Flack's so that the other man could not fail to take in his words. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know and we'll take you with us, so whether the city goes dark or not, you'll be away from the blame. You'll get to keep your life, for what it's worth."

Flack looked unsure, indecision writ large across his face and the sweat on his skin shining under the lights of the room. He looked like he might be wavering.

Henry glanced back at Elizabeth, eyes searching her face, silently asking if she needed him to continue for her. Her brilliant husband.

She took a breath, feeling the pull of it deep in her chest, assessing for a moment. Tolerable. The pain was tolerable again. She swallowed and reached out to pull towards her the thin paper folder she had brought with her into the room. She gave Henry a small nod and a small, grateful smile.

He straightened up to give her a line of direct sight to Andreou Flack, but he didn't step back, electing to stay close by in case he should be needed.

And if his looming presence happened to intimidate the Regional Security Officer a tiny bit then… it couldn't be helped.

Elizabeth turned her smile to Flack, but it was different to the one she gave Henry. This one let the man know he was about to be beaten; the only thing for him to do was wait for it. "You know, my husband is a great guy," she told Flack, almost conversationally. "For lots of reasons, but he's also pretty experienced in live missions, did you know that?" She waved her hand in the air as if to wave away the comment. "Of course you did, forget I asked that. Anyway, he brought my attention to something interesting a little earlier, after you'd finished taking out your frustrations with your fists – don't think I've forgotten that, by the way. We'll be coming back to it at a later date. But back to Henry. He asked a couple of the security guys to see the building schematics and a detailed map of the local area, but do you know what happened when they tried to access the files on the computer?"

Flack swallowed heavily.

Elizabeth allowed a pause to let the question sink in, waiting for as long as she dared before lowering her voice to a whisper as though sharing a secret. "The files weren't there, Andreou." She raised her voice again. "So they tried to find the physical copies. But Henry, were they there?" She looked to Henry.

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on Flack's face. "They weren't there. In fact they don't seem to be anywhere. Which is interesting, because they're the documents that would show any routes out of the embassy other than the obvious ones through the doors."

The _you're screwed_ smile on her face was widening into a grin of its own volition. "And it's even more interesting, Andreou, because you're pretty much the only guy on staff here that has both the security clearance and the know-how to make those documents disappear."

It seemed that Flack was still determined to put up a fight, even though he was left clutching at straws. "The ambassador would also have the clearance."

Elizabeth scoffed. "Please. Helena can't even successfully send an email half the time. She wouldn't have a clue how to make computer files disappear without a trace." She glanced towards the one-way mirror. "No offence, Helena," she added, in case the ambassador happened to be watching.

Silence.

Almost. Not quite silence, because the sound of Flack's breathing was loud in the room and the sound of the helicopter was still there in the background, a rhythmic thrum that Elizabeth had almost grown used to, enough that she was able to block it out for whole minutes at a time until the chopper made its next pass directly overhead and made all of the walls vibrate.

She retook her seat at the table and placed her hand over the paper folder that lay there. "You know what's in here?" she asked Flack.

He shrugged awkwardly, his arms cuffed behind his back restraining his movement.

She flicked the file open, watching his reactions closely.

The folder was empty.

"Nothing, Andreou, nothing is in here. This folder is supposed to hold the paper copy of the building schematics, but, like I say – that seems to have disappeared."

Flack blinked and said nothing.

She pressed on. Almost there now. The man was almost broken. He just needed a little more. "The only reason I can think of to make those documents disappear is because they held information that we might find useful. Information like how to get out of here in an emergency." She took a breath. "Tell me how we get out of here."

No answer.

Elizabeth glanced down at her watch. "There's about twenty minutes left before the lights go out, Andreou. Time to pick how you want this to go. If you don't help us, we'll leave you with Kodalov and you'll take the fall for anything he needs you to. Because – and here's a little secret for you – you're _one of us_. Doesn't matter what you've done for him or his puppetmasters. You're American, and we all know what Kodalov thinks about that right now. It'll be you that does the time. And believe me when I say it won't be pretty."

"Are you threatening me, Madam Secretary?"

She shook her head. "No. I have some experience of this sort of thing. I know how this is going to go. I don't need to threaten you - I'm telling you. Kodalov will end up killing you. And call me crazy, but I don't think you really want to die for his cause. Do you?"

She waited and held her breath, was aware of Henry doing the same. Aware of Matt standing against the wall behind Flack, looking up at the ceiling as the helicopter hovered close by, and seeming increasingly twitchy. They really had to move soon.

 _Come on, Flack_.

Flack blinked and looked down at the empty folder on the table. Resignation written across his face. "There's a tunnel," he said.

Relief flooded through her and Elizabeth had just opened her mouth to press for more information when the door to the interrogation room opened and Corporal Isaac Greenwood stepped in.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, "but there's a phone call for you. It's Russell Jackson."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

The line went quiet for so long after she spoke to the White House operator to identify herself that Alison McCord was almost certain that she was going to be either cut off or fobbed off, and she wasn't sure which of those would anger her more. She was just preparing herself to be really, properly furious when the line clicked back on.

"Alison?"

She knew that voice. _Crap_. She'd actually been put through to the President of the United States. She'd take a moment to marvel at that if not for the fact she had more pressing matters to consider. She figured she wouldn't have long so decided to dive right in. "Mr President, what's going on? Where are my mom and dad? What's happened to them?"

"Alison, don't panic," Conrad said, in a pacifying tone, and oh wow, that was the wrong thing to say, not to mention the wrong way to say it.

"Tell me why I shouldn't." Her tone was clipped steel. She stopped her frantic pacing of the kitchen and waited expectantly for the answer.

Conrad hummed a little like he might be smiling at her. "You're your mother's daughter, you know that?"

"Yes," she snapped. It was a comparison that pleased her, especially when the President obviously thought so highly of her mom, but she didn't have patience for what she suspected was Conrad trying to distract her. "Tell me what you know."

Maybe ordering the President around wasn't exactly the done thing, but she figured she had cause and no doubt she was only following in her mother's footsteps. In the corner of the kitchen, Blake's eyebrows were raised almost off his forehead, and Stevie and Jason had propped themselves in the doorway to watch their sister do something impressive – and potentially stupid.

"I'm sure you understand there isn't much I can tell you, Alison. But I can tell you that I've spoken to both of your parents within the past couple of hours and they were both OK."

 _Were_. They _were_ both OK. "And now? Where are they now?"

"I believe that they're still in the embassy in Rusapol, we're just – " Conrad stopped abruptly and there was the sound of someone else shouting – ranting – in the background. "What is it?" The question was directed at someone on the other end of the phone line.

Alison knew the sound of that ranting voice, even from her distance. Her mom had had her phone on speaker enough times and Alison had met Russell Jackson enough to know what he sounded like when he was cross. Specifically, when he was cross at her mom, which is exactly what he currently sounded like. "What's going on?" she asked Conrad, curiosity and worry warring within her. Had Russell just been speaking to her mom?

The distant ranting on the other end of the line was getting louder. "Alison, I'm afraid I have to go. I assure you we're doing absolutely everything possible to get your parents home – _both_ of them. I promise you I'll call you personally as soon as there is any news. All right?"

It wasn't, not really, and she wanted to protest but there was obviously something going on that was demanding Conrad's attention, and Alison knew that she had to let the man do his job. She sank back against the kitchen counter and told herself that Russell Jackson shouting was good. It meant that they were working, that there were still things they could try. He wouldn't be shouting if he'd just found out her parents were dead. Would he? She blinked against fresh tears. She realised the President was still waiting for her answer. She sighed. "All right."

* * *

Elizabeth put down the phone and then put her head into her hands, letting her hair fall in front of her face in an effort to try and hide for a moment. Maybe it should have been weirdly comforting to have Russell Jackson yelling at her down a crackling phone line from a different continent, a sign perhaps that he hadn't written her off for dead, but the fact he had yelled at her even after she had told him about the awful fight that had happened with Andreou Flack told her that he was pretty damn mad at her.

And he had some cause to be, but how the hell was she supposed to know that Conrad was doing a dirty deal with Gleb Kodalov at the same time as she was pressing the off switch on half the lights in Rusapol? It wasn't as though she'd had the option of doing nothing.

"Babe?"

She looked up to find Henry standing in the doorway of the communications suite; she had left him with Flack to finish getting out of him the information on their exit route while she went to take Russell's call, but now he was looking at her with an expression of concern as she sat slumped over the phone. "Hey," she said, aware that it sounded a little weak.

"What happened?" Henry pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room to lean against the desk where Elizabeth sat, reaching out to brush his hand over her hair and softly stroke his thumb over her forehead.

She caught his hand in hers as he went to pull back, feeling the need for a little contact and reassurance. "Conrad called Kodalov."

Henry stilled as he took in the expression on her face and the tone of her voice. "That doesn't sound good."

"He did a deal with him to call fresh elections and to reinstate my diplomatic status so it'll be a little easier getting out of the country."

Henry frowned, obviously a little confused. "OK, that sounds like a good thing…"

"And now he's complicit in covering up Zembrovko's murder and Kodalov gets to stay as President."

"Oh."

"And when all the lights suddenly go out, it's not going to take him long to figure out who pulled the plug and he's not going to be happy after he's just done a deal with Conrad that said nothing about losing electricity across half the capital." It wouldn't be pretty, of that much she was sure. She was also pretty sure she'd be the one to have to deal with the resultant mess, and she was just so tired and ready to drop, and so not ready to deal with fresh hell from Gleb Kodalov. _President_ Gleb Kodalov.

She wished Conrad had spoken to her before calling Kodalov. Sure, she knew he could call his own play, and it wasn't exactly like she was available for a consultation while she was getting knocked around by and then interrogating a traitor, but it would've been nice if he'd made an effort to run it past her first. And now they were all covering up a murder?

She was more pissed off about that than she was Russell yelling at her for doing the best she could with the resources she had, but the consequences were going to take a little time to sink in. The yelling had provoked a more immediate reaction. "Russell was pretty mad."

Henry snorted. "Screw Russell."

Elizabeth sighed. "Henry…"

He pushed away from the desk to pace in front of her. "No, Elizabeth. I mean it. Screw Russell. He doesn't get to be mad at you for that, he can't just –"

"I need to talk to Kodalov." She said it quietly, almost under her breath, hadn't really been planning to say it out loud at all, but it just slipped out while she was thinking through her next play, trying to work out how to avert a disaster when the power plant shut down and created more chaos when Kodalov had just done a deal with the US to try and solve the previous one. Apparently she was too tired to filter her thoughts anymore.

Henry stopped dead. "No, you don't."

Elizabeth turned to the computer in front of her and clicked through, looking for the directory that would tell her how to connect with the presidential palace where she suspected Kodalov still to be. "Not in person, just a phone call. I have to –"

She was stopped by Henry's hand wrapping gently around her wrist and tugging her around to face him. He crouched down in front of her chair and cupped her face in his hands, his expression soft but adamant. "No," he said again. "We have to go."

"Henry, if the lights go out now, Kodalov will never let us leave. It'll be like going back on Conrad's word."

He looked at her in a way that suggested he wasn't going to budge on the subject.

She tried a different tack in case it was Kodalov specifically that Henry objected to her speaking to. "Mark Strong, then. I need to call Mark Strong at the power plant, try and get him to reverse the shutdown before it's too late to stop."

It partly worked. Kind of.

"Only if you can do it on the move." Henry obviously wasn't going to stand for any argument on the subject.

From the corner of the room, Corporal Isaac Greenwood spoke up. "I'll keep trying him on the cell, Ma'am," he promised.

The sound of the younger man made Elizabeth jump; she had forgotten he was in the room somewhere around Russell's bit on _you've done what now_ and _what were you thinking, you must have got a concussion when you hit your head_.

"Thank you," Henry told him, standing up and holding his hand out to Elizabeth.

She took it, feeling her husband's fingers wrap securely around the back of her hand. "You're playing the husband card, aren't you?"

"Babe, I should get a medal for not playing it until now."

He had a point. She stood and leaned her head against him for a moment. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I know. I'll get you a medal when we get home. A really good one."

Henry kissed her forehead. "Let's just _get_ home, OK? Preferably without any more fist fights or gunshots. That will do me just fine. Now, you ready to go?"

She cast one last look at the computer and the phone, a big part of her itching to stay and work, to call Gleb Kodalov and do something to make it right, to lay the groundwork to minimise the damage that would occur when the lights went out and antagonised the agreement he had come to with Conrad. Then she looked back at Henry, at the worry and tension that had taken up semi-permanent residence within him. She knew what they had to do. "Yeah," she agreed. "Let's go."

* * *

"Any luck?" Elizabeth looked at Corporal Greenwood as he focused on the small phone in his hands, still trying to get through to Mark Strong at the power plant as their group assembled in the security suite, ready to leave the chancery building behind.

The young corporal shrugged. "Not yet, Ma'am. I'll keep trying, though."

"We're going into an underground tunnel, Isaac. I don't think the phone would work in there even if a coup hadn't overwhelmed the entire network." She gave him a small smile, hoping the kid knew she appreciated his efforts and his unfailing upbeat attitude; it was just that the sound of blood rushing in her head and the growing sense that she'd be much better off lying down instead of standing was getting in the way of things such as normal human civility and professional appreciation.

He smiled back. "That's probably true. Maybe we should try a carrier pigeon."

Elizabeth laughed despite the way it made her vision swim a little. "Sometimes the old school is still the best school."

Matt stuck his head around the doorway. "We're ready to leave, Ma'am."

Elizabeth paused for a moment, taking just a few seconds to gather herself. It was quieter in the security rooms, further away from the sounds of the protest in the street outside and better insulated against the whir of the Mi-24 helicopter, but she could still hear them without any trouble. It seemed that Russell's insistence that Conrad had agreed with Kodalov she'd have an easier passage out of the embassy left a little bit to be desired. If the deal was so damn good, she didn't think she'd be leaving the building by way of a secret tunnel, the existence of which they'd discovered no thanks to Conrad and Russell.

"Ma'am?" Matt prompted.

"Lead the way, Matt." She slid her hand into Henry's as he stood at her side, and leant into him a little as they followed her DS agents and a couple of the local security guys – Andreou Flack handcuffed and chaperoned brusquely between them - and passed out of the security rooms and down a narrow corridor that led to what was currently a storage room.

And, apparently, the secret entrance to Narnia.

A few filing cabinets had been shoved haphazardly out of the way to reveal a door, which now stood open, leading to a set of stone steps and, after that – who the hell knew.

"Is this for real?" If the question sounded glib, it really couldn't be helped. Elizabeth was glad she had Henry to help hold her up. She was pretty sure she was tripping hard at that moment.

Matt nodded. "I've checked it out, Ma'am. It's for real."

She supposed she'd just have to take his word for it. "OK, then. After you."

Her DS agent looked like he had a comment to make at that, but he wisely chose to hold it in, merely raising one eyebrow before nodding and ducking down to so that he could pass through the small doorway. His footsteps on the stairs echoed in the small space.

Elizabeth followed him, still holding Henry's hand. "You OK?" she asked him as they descended the stairs, all too aware that not that long ago he'd been lying on the floor unable to stand when the wind was punched out of him.

He glanced down at her. "Yeah, I'm OK. Are you?"

If she thought too long about it, she'd have to give him an answer he probably wouldn't like. She suspected his thought process before answering her had followed similar lines. All she said was, "Yeah."

"Would you like some history, Madam Secretary?" Andreou Flack spoke up from his place a few steps behind them, sandwiched between two burly Petrian security guards.

"Shut up, Flack." She wasn't in the mood for a story, instead wanting nothing but quiet as they entered the dim tunnel, lit only by the torches carried by Matt, Frank, Greenwood and a couple of the others. It appeared that no one had used the tunnel for years. It wasn't possible to hear the helicopter or the protests, for which Elizabeth was grateful, but there were unsettling, reverberating echoes that encouraged her heart rate to pick up, and scurrying sounds inside the brick-lined walls that suggested while they might be the only humans wandering around below ground level, they weren't the only lifeforms.

Apparently now that he had started talking, Flack couldn't – wouldn't - stop. His last ditch attempt to control something, no doubt. "Did you know that our chancery wasn't always a chancery?"

"Well, considering it was built in the 1800s but only became our embassy base in the 1950s, I guess I did know that." She kept her gaze straight ahead, not wanting to give the guy the satisfaction of turning around to look at him, and also not wanting to deal with the exhausted dizziness she knew would accompany the action. She was concentrating hard on holding her head as still as possible.

"It used to be Rusapol's main mail sorting office, did you know that?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to take a leaf out of Flack's playbook and deliberately fail to answer a goading question. Instead she flexed her fingers against Henry's and carried on walking with careful steps just behind Matt.

"That's what this tunnel was for. It used to transport post between the sorting office and what used to be the Petrian Bureau of Government Communications, among other places. Otherwise known as the propaganda shop, back in the early 1900s. Although it hasn't been the BGC since the twenties."

"And I suppose you're going to tell us what the BGC building is now? A drugs dun or a brothel, I presume?" She wouldn't be surprised, going by their current luck. No doubt it would be something dodgy and dangerous. Although long as they had a working phone, she figured she could deal with it.

"Well, if we keep going to the end of this tunnel, we'll wind up in a back street behind a place that sells kebabs."

Great. That would be just great. Although it did explain why Flack had been prepared to use it as his escape route. A back street behind a takeout place would be anonymous enough that he could just blend in. Elizabeth suspected it was not the kebab shop they were heading for. "And if we don't keep going to the end? If we go to the old BGC?"

It was Matt who answered the question, apparently having lost patience with Andreou Flack's teasing storytelling, especially when he had no doubt already heard it when Elizabeth had gone off to be shouted at by the Chief of Staff and he and Henry had stayed back to quiz Flack on their exit strategy. "That would be the British Embassy, Ma'am."

"Oh, so I was right. A drugs den and a brothel."

The DS agent didn't even crack a smile at her quip, the tension of the evening obviously taking its toll. "Best not say that out loud while we're asking for their help, Ma'am."

That raised an important question. "Will they help us? I mean I know we're friends but is there a chance they're going to just shoot us when we unexpectedly knock on their secret door and send their security people into turmoil?"

Helena Garfield, still wearing her long red evening gown and a pair of battered sneakers, quickened her step to catch up with Elizabeth and Henry. "I know the ambassador pretty well, Madam Secretary. He'll help us. I mean, he'll probably laugh at us first, probably quite hard, but he'll help us. He's a friend."

Behind them, Andreou Flack snorted. "A good friend, is he, Helena?"

"Don't go there, Andreou." There was a warning in the ambassador's voice, a darkness to her tone that Elizabeth was unfamiliar with.

It stopped Flack in his tracks, though, successfully shutting him up for the first time since they entered the tunnel. Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered about the relationship between the ambassador and the Regional Security Officer. She suspected that discovering Flack's duplicity had snapped something in Helena; the ambassador was being understandably hostile towards the man, but she also seemed to be discreetly licking her wounds. It might be entirely innocent.

Elizabeth suspected that it wasn't.

But she had no time to think about that because they rounded a gentle bend in the tunnel and then Matt came to a stop next to an empty doorway that led to a small dark corridor and then another flight of stone stairs, this time leading up to a door not dissimilar to the one they had come through as they left their own embassy. He turned and fixed Flack with his best interrogative stare. "This the one?"

Elizabeth kept her eyes on her DS agent's face; she trusted his reaction much more than she trusted Flack's.

"That's the one," Flack said.

Matt seemed satisfied with the response and he nodded, and then two of the local security guys joined him at the head of the party, while Frank and Corporal Greenwood closed in around Elizabeth.

"Wait here a moment while I go and knock on the door," Matt said. "If I don't get shot, it should be safe to follow."

Elizabeth watched as he disappeared into the secondary corridor and then she turned into Henry, wrapping her arms around his waist and taking the opportunity to rest her pounding head briefly against his chest, needing the solidity of him against her and the surety of his arms as they came up to wrap carefully around her back. "You OK?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer. She thought about Russell Jackson yelling at her and all the lights about to go out, clung on a little tighter to Henry.

At the other end of the little corridor, Matt, incongruously with the whole situation, raised his hand and knocked politely on the door. Then he drew back and waited.

When there was no response from the other side of the door after a minute, he gave up on the niceties and started to bang his fist against it.


	19. Chapter 19

Thank you for all the lovely comments :) I hope you enjoy this penultimate chapter...

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

"Maybe we could say it wasn't us." Russell Jackson took a healthy swallow of whisky and then stared down into his glass as though it might hold all the answers to his problems.

He damn well hoped that it did, because currently he was crapping out.

Sat on the opposite couch in the Oval Office, President Conrad Dalton looked up from the bottom of his own – much more measured – glass. "If we could stick to serious suggestions only, please."

"Who said that wasn't serious? Also it has the bonus of being true. Because it wasn't us. It was Elizabeth." He meant, of course, the giving of the insane order to shut down the power plant.

"Elizabeth _is_ us, and be careful, Russell," Conrad warned. "You have to admit, it was a bold move. And effective."

"And running just _slightly_ against the sentiments of your phone call with Gleb Kodalov." Yeah, telling the man in one breath that he could keep his presidency while in the next switching off his lights, that was just great.

When everything was over, Russell would remind himself of the fact that Elizabeth hadn't known they were in the middle of doing a deal with the devil while she was trying to find a way out of hell, and that she had just been in a literal full-on fight before negotiating with a bastard to try and save everyone in the embassy, but other things were more immediate. He could be nice later. Maybe.

Conrad swirled his whisky in the glass. "But it's also exactly what he wants. The US-owned power plant gone. He can't be mad about that."

"But he will be." Russell downed the rest of his drink in one go and then immediately poured himself another. That was the problem they had. It wasn't about what should happen, it was about what would happen, and he would bet everything good in his life that Kodalov would be pretty mad when he discovered Elizabeth turned out his lights. If only she'd had time to get out of the country first, it might have been entertaining to sit back and watch the show for a little while before flicking the switch back to 'on'. But as it was, she was still there and still in trouble, and the recently re-opened exit route seemed to be closing down again, unless they could do something to fix the mess.

Fix the mess, or distract Gleb Kodalov. Either would do in the short term. In the immediate term, Russell felt the need for something to calm his blood pressure, and reached over to where he'd left his phone on the end table.

"Maybe we can say the plant shut down due to security concerns because of the protests," Conrad mused. "The guy who runs it, what's his name?"

"Mark Strong." Russell had pulled up an app on his phone and was intently staring at Panda Cam in the hope that the livestream of the pandas at the National Zoo could calm his heart rate, and he was only half-listening to Conrad.

"Mark Strong," Conrad repeated. "Do you think we could get him to agree to that, to saying it was due to security concerns? Russell?"

Russell looked up, surreptitiously closing down the cell phone's browser window before his boss could catch him watching pandas. It had been a long day. He had needed those few moments. "I don't know, sir, maybe. Probably. We can see what the situation is over there at the moment." He looked back at his phone and opened up the Twitter app – he had given up going through the CIA and had started going straight to the source of rolling live updates. "Well, what do you know, Mark Strong has just tweeted his concern for the situation in Petria tonight."

No doubt the power plant boss was laying the social media groundwork for the pending shutdown. And his internet access was obviously still working, unlike across much of Petria. That was interesting – and useful.

"In the circumstances, that's encouraging. Can we call him?" Conrad asked.

"Let's go one better." Russell couldn't face any more calls with crackling phone lines about to drop out at any moment. Instead, he opened up Twitter's messaging facility and found his ego stroked a little when it transpired Mark Strong was already following the Chief of Staff's account. He typed a message.

 _Mark, tell me what's going on with the lights. Then fix it._

He thought that about covered it. He pressed send.

* * *

If not for the beefed up security presence on the gate outside and the muffled sounds of a large group of people not all that far away, it could have been business as usual at the British Embassy. The atmosphere was calm despite the events of the night, and while there was no sign of a brothel in the building, once the ambassador and his staff had got over the surprise of their American friends rocking up unexpectedly on the doorstep seeking refuge, Elizabeth had been offered a veritable cocktail of painkillers for her injuries and so her assessment of ending up in a drugs den was proving not entirely inaccurate.

And the ibuprofen had been very gratefully received.

She slid off the desk she had been sitting on while the embassy first aider – an ex-army doctor, no less – had tested her jarred wrist and poked her bruised ribs before proclaiming, without much in the way of fanfare, "You'll live." He had said the same thing to Henry after checking him out, and had then disappeared without a backward glance, leaving them alone.

"See," Elizabeth said to Henry, as she adjusted her blouse and straightened her hair. "All fine."

He raised a sceptical eyebrow that suggested he didn't entirely agree with her but said nothing, instead electing to slide his arms around her waist and hug her to him, breathing deeply and slumping against her like the stress was leeching out of him. Elizabeth got it. She recognised that they still had a way to go, but she felt somewhat secure for the first time since the first gunshot was fired hours ago – yesterday, now. It was almost three thirty in the morning.

No wonder she was half-asleep. What a night. Not even over yet.

The door opened abruptly and Matt half-fell into the room, breathing hard. "Ma'am, good news, I thought you'd want to know."

Elizabeth lifted her head from Henry's chest the better to speak with her agent, but kept her husband close. "What is it?"

The DS agent was grinning and that could only mean something really good, especially under the circumstances. "We just got a radio signal from our guys still in the palace. They're OK."

Relief and not a little wonder flooded through her and Elizabeth stepped away from Henry to go to Matt, feeling the need to peer closely into his face to make sure he was telling her the truth. "Really? All of them?"

"All of them, Ma'am."

"Daisy and Jay and the rest of the detail?"

"The very same. They're hiding in an outbuilding on the palace grounds, waiting for a ride home."

Elizabeth closed her eyes to take a moment to process it. "Oh, that's just the best news."

Henry stepped up next to her and reached over to clap Matt on the shoulder. "It is," he agreed. "That's great, really."

It was, really great. It also meant that soon – very soon – they'd be sending a team out to the palace to go and quietly retrieve their friends. That presented an opportunity, Elizabeth thought, her tired brain automatically kicking back into gear and an idea starting to percolate. An opportunity she could take advantage of.

"Elizabeth?" Apparently Henry had seen something change in her face, because he was already back to looking concerned.

She looked at Matt instead, knowing that looking at her husband wouldn't help with what she was currently thinking. She needed to keep her professional head on for a little while longer, and not the one that told her that she should just take Henry and hide away somewhere until it was time to leave. "We're sending a team in?"

"A small contingent, yes, Ma'am. We'll send Kev from our detail, plus Corporal Greenwood has volunteered. And a couple of the local guys and some of the team from the British Embassy who are familiar with the palace grounds. In and out as fast as possible, while we head for the airport. They'll meet us at the plane."

Elizabeth nodded. "OK. Except how about we change that plan so we can all head for the plane together."

"Ma'am, there's no time to –"

"I mean, what if I want to go to the palace?"

"No." That was Henry, immediate and sure. He stepped around in front of her, blocking her view of Matt as he took her shoulders in his hands and leaned down so his eyes were level with hers. "Are you crazy?" His voice was hard and shook with what Elizabeth knew to be stress and, she guessed, anger that would be bound to spill over if she pushed him the wrong way.

She knew what she was asking of him. She brought her hands up to hold onto his wrists as his own hands held her firmly. "I want to talk to Kodalov."

Maybe it was crazy. It probably was crazy. But she thought that if she talked to him, if she had the opportunity to see him face to face, maybe she could make the little problem of the lights being about to go out go away. They had only minutes left, after all. Maybe she could do some damage control. And maybe it would help her understand him.

"And just walk right up to him in an unsecure location, where he can do whatever the hell he wants with you?" Henry was not taking the idea well.

Elizabeth took in a slow breath, telling herself not to rise to Henry's – justifiable – protest. Getting into an argument wouldn't help anything. "If I can just get him to listen –"

"No."

"Henry…" She sighed in frustration, scrubbed her hands through her hair. "Leaving like this, it just… it feels like running away."

Henry's eyes softened then as he took in her words. He stroked his thumbs over her shoulders. "It's not running away, babe. It's surviving. It's logical. It's necessary. And it doesn't preclude anything that might happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. It doesn't stop you picking up the phone and calling him as soon as you get back to the office. But right now, tonight, there's nothing more that we can do, OK?"

It was in her mind to protest, to try another argument, but the _we_ in Henry's last statement got to her. He was right. She wasn't the only one in this. He was, too. And so were her agents and everyone in the US embassy, and now everyone in the British embassy, too. She had to remember the picture was bigger than just one awful night. She looked down.

Sensing an advantage, Henry closed in. "It's going to take time to put together a case to take down Gleb Kodalov, especially after Conrad's phone call with him. Let's make sure we get that time, OK? Let's go home now and see our children."

Elizabeth nodded and gave in. "Yeah," she said quietly. "OK."

"Good," Henry said.

"Good," Matt said, obviously relieved he wouldn't have to take on Elizabeth McCord with her mind set on something. Then he said, "Helena Garfield has persuaded the British ambassador to loan us some vehicles, Ma'am."

"Of course she has." Elizabeth smiled at that. She was sure Helena Garfield could persuade just about anyone to give her whatever the hell she wanted. Maybe she should have a go at taking down Kodalov.

"The contingent going to the palace will be leaving in the next few minutes with your blessing, and then we'll have a car for you in the next ten minutes to go to the airport."

She ignored the second part of the statement and focused on the first. "I want to speak to the guys before they head to the palace."

"They're waiting next door. This way."

Elizabeth followed Matt out the door with Henry crowding in close behind her, his arm securely around her waist like he was ready to physically pull her back if he had to. She slid her hand onto his and held on tight.

* * *

Her Facebook and Twitter notifications were full of people sending her messages of support and concern, a lot of them from friends and people she knew, but not all of them. That was something Alison McCord was still getting her head around; that people would actively seek her out because of who her mom was, and send her tweets like they knew her.

At least tonight they were sending nice stuff.

She hadn't replied to any of them. She didn't know how to. Nor did she know how to respond to the stream of texts and missed calls on her phone from her friends, who had obviously been online and seen the posts about the Secretary of State's car being surrounded at the embassy in Rusapol, and Gleb Kodalov singling her out in his address for scorn and threats. What the hell was she supposed to say to them?

Replying with _thanks_ just seemed pointless, but it was all Alison had been able to come up with, so she had settled instead on not replying at all, and hoping fervently that everything turned out OK so that in a couple of days she could regale her friends with the outlandish story about how she had called up the President of the United States and given him an earful and ordered him to give her information about her parents, and then everything could go back to normal.

If it didn't go back to normal, she didn't know what she'd do.

She shuffled closer to Stevie as they sat on the couch, staring in the direction of a movie that none of them were watching. Her older sister absently wrapped her arm around her shoulders and Alison leaned into her, looking over at where Blake sat slumped in an armchair to find him looking at them with concern, and something that might have been pity.

She looked away, looked at her phone, didn't want to deal with anyone else's concern. Instead she distracted herself with her new habit of opening up her draft messages and trying to resend the one to her mom and dad, asking if they were OK.

Alison pressed send. Watched the little icon whir around, steeled herself for it to fail again.

 _Message sent_.

She sat up abruptly, startling Stevie and waking Jason who had fallen into a fitful sleep at the other end of the couch.

"What?" Stevie said.

Alison turned to her with a smile on her face. "It sent! The message sent."

"That's great, Ali," Stevie said, exchanging a look with Blake that suggested neither of them thought it meant that much.

Maybe it didn't. But it meant _something_ , she was sure of it. It had to mean something better than before. She'd take it, for now.

It was something.

* * *

The party headed to the palace had just left out of a side entrance, and now their numbers were fewer.

Henry leant back against the wall of the wide ground floor foyer as he watched Elizabeth talking to Helena Garfield, trying to persuade the ambassador to leave with them when they departed any minute for the airport. The ambassador was refusing to budge, insisting that she could stay at the British embassy until it was safe to go back to her own – and the British ambassador seemed more than happy for that to happen; a fact that was, happily, massively pissing off Andreou Flack as he sat handcuffed to a chair in an office, waiting to join them on the ride to the airport.

Henry stood back out of the way as Elizabeth tried one last time to talk Helena round; he knew that his wife's attempts to get the ambassador to go with them were as much about Elizabeth's annoyance that she didn't have the option of staying to fix things as they were about their immediate safety.

He knew it was driving Elizabeth crazy not to be able to fix everything, not to stay until the job was completely finished. But they just couldn't take the risk, and he wasn't about to apologise any time soon at putting his foot down over her mad desire to go to the palace to talk to President Kodalov. She might be the Secretary of State, and she might still have work to do, but first she needed to be safe. And to sleep. She had done enough for one night.

"You're absolutely sure about this, Helena?" On the other side of the foyer, Elizabeth sounded like she had finally given up trying to convince the ambassador to leave with them.

Finally. Someone more stubborn than his wife. "I'm sure," said Helena. "It will be fine. Besides, this way I can call you in a couple of days with the latest gossip."

Elizabeth glanced over at where the British ambassador stood with a small huddle of his staff. "You sure you're not gonna _be_ the gossip?" she murmured slyly.

"I couldn't possibly comment."

Elizabeth sighed. "It might get worse here before it gets better."

"I know that, Ma'am."

"You know, I told you, you don't have to call me Ma'am in the middle of a crisis."

Helena smiled and shook her head. "Yes, I do. I need a leader. And I hate to break it to you, _Ma'am_ , but you're it." She reached over and hugged Elizabeth carefully, mindful of her ribs. Then she went over to join the British ambassador to discuss their security plans for once they were alone.

Henry managed to last precisely three seconds of watching Helena's comment sink in and Elizabeth looking slightly bereft and overwhelmed before he pushed away from the wall and held out his hand to his wife. She blinked at him for a moment, her eyes slightly wet, before she slid her hand into his and let him pull her the couple of steps towards him. "Talk to me," he said quietly.

He marvelled at the fact he could speak quietly; while he could still just about hear the protest and was conscious of the large group of people a couple of streets away, the noise levels were much more normal.

"About what?"

Henry was about to answer when he realised something. "I can't hear the helicopter anymore," he said, looking up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky.

Elizabeth shrugged. "They probably don't need it now that Kodalov has secured his position. It was all for show until he consolidated power. Or maybe he's keeping up his end of the bargain to make it easier for us to leave."

Her tone was slightly bitter, and Henry guessed that she was thinking about the conversation that Kodalov had had with Conrad. He guessed that she was thinking that the conversation would have been very different if she had been the one having it with Kodalov, and no doubt that was part of her reason for wanting to go to talk to him at the palace.

Matt popped his head around the door into the foyer. "Ma'am, the car is ready. We need to leave now."

Two security guys appeared with a disgruntled Andreou Flack between them, having collected the man from where he'd been left in a small office.

Henry raised his eyebrows in disbelief, pointing at the back of the Regional Security Officer as the little group passed by. "He's coming in the car with us?"

The DS agent suppressed a small smile. "No, Dr McCord. We've got two cars. And we'll make him sit in the back of the plane."

"Good." Henry wasn't worried about Flack doing any more damage if they were shut into close quarters with him; it was more about what he might be inclined to do to Flack. Watching the other man push Elizabeth around before slamming his shoe into her ribs hadn't exactly endeared him to Henry, and he wasn't averse to a little retribution when presented with the opportunity. He still had just enough of his wits about him that he realised it probably wouldn't be wise in the long run to actively seek that opportunity.

"We're coming, Matt," Elizabeth said, but then she hesitated, looking in the direction of the street outside.

Henry dipped down to catch her gaze with his. "Babe, we have to go."

She nodded. "I know." But she was still hesitating.

"Matt and the guys have made as sure as they can do that we'll be safe driving to the airport." He couldn't deny that he was a little nervous about being out in the open himself, and he couldn't blame Elizabeth if she was apprehensive about it.

"No, that's not… That's not it." She gave him a tight, self-deprecating smile and then dropped her gaze to closely examine his collarbone. "I know we have to go. I just hate leaving things unfinished."

Damn, she was brilliant. His wife was amazing. A wave of love and protectiveness washed over him as he watched Elizabeth warring with herself. He knew that the messy, inconclusive nature of so much of her job was something she found challenging at times, that she liked to see things through to their conclusion, no matter what. Even when it required her to make sacrifices or things didn't go to plan. She was incredible. But sometimes she needed reminding that she could only do so much, especially in other countries' affairs. She had to let things shake out for themselves. Sometimes she had to let it go, at least for a little while. "I know, babe," Henry said, lifting one hand to stroke her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it gently behind her ear. "But Kodalov started this. He can finish it. You did what you had to do, and now we have to leave. OK?"

She breathed in and held it for a moment. Then she exhaled and said, "Yeah."

Henry thought that if he wasn't there with her, Elizabeth might have stayed. She might have been able to convince Matt to take her to the palace with the others to confront Kodalov. She might have stayed to try and unravel the crossed wires caused by Conrad's phone call and her call over the power plant. She might well have stayed, and who knew what would have come of it, what might have happened to her if she went storming back to Kodalov. He thanked his lucky stars he had come on the trip, and that she loved him enough to put him first.

Because that was what she was doing, he knew. She was leaving because of him – _with_ him. She'd always choose him.

It worked both ways.

They followed Matt through the embassy to the back entrance, which was away from the road and would hopefully give them enough cover to get out and on their way without being seen. The car that was waiting for them was European, non-descript, small, just about space enough for five. On the face of it, entirely normal.

"Don't worry, it's bulletproof, and the windows are tinted," Matt said. "It's on loan from the British ambassador. I'm told we'll get a big bill to pay if it comes back damaged, so we're gonna be real careful to drive safe."

The driver, also on loan from the embassy, was already behind the wheel. Matt held the door open for Henry and Elizabeth and then he climbed in after them, the three of them squashing together on the back seat while Frank got in the passenger seat. Henry held Elizabeth's hands in his, feeling his heart rate pick up again as the doors were slammed shut and the engine revved. Elizabeth's palm was slightly clammy against his and he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse in her wrist.

A forty-five minute drive to the airport. That was all it was. All they had to get through.

There was a burst of radio static from the front of the car, and then they started driving, pulling away from the back door of the embassy and navigating a little warren of back streets until they reached one of the main boulevards. There were still people out protesting on the streets, but there wasn't the violence they had seen outside their own embassy. A few people glanced at the car as it passed, but hardly anyone gave it a second look. It blended in well with the few other cars that were out on the roads at such a time of day.

It was getting on for four in the morning.

Henry was just about to comment to Elizabeth that things seemed to be getting a little calmer when, without warning, all the surrounding city lights went out.


	20. Chapter 20

So this is the last chapter. It leaves things kinda deliberately unresolved, but I hope is still satisfying enough of a conclusion for everyone who has stuck with me through this whole crazy fic. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read this story and left comments and given me pep talks when I've been having a crisis over the plot, you've all made this so fun and you're all absolutely lovely and brilliant. I think I'm gonna do some cheesy smut next to counteract the brainpower this story has taken haha. Hope you enjoy this chapter x

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

Gleb Kodalov was aware that he wasn't the smartest man to ever hold high office, but he was smart enough to know how to bide his time and to hire smart people to do the more complicated thinking for him, and he was smart enough and familiar enough with power plays to join the dots together when all of a sudden the lights went out in the presidential palace for the second time in less than twelve hours.

The first time at the reception for the Americans had been, technically, his doing, although he had been acting on advisement from some of his backers that the darkness would create both the panic and the cover he was looking for. And then he could step forth and quell the panic once the lights came back on.

Task duly completed, power restored to the palace generators that had been temporarily cut off, and a satisfactory yet somewhat troubling phone call with the American President concluded, Kodalov had just been contemplating the prospect of a few hours' sleep when the lights went out again. This time _not_ his doing.

He sat in the dark, listening to the sounds of the heating system ticking as it cooled and the panic of the security staff and aides left in the palace as they were plunged once more into darkness. The noises of distress coming from outside the President's suite of offices reminded him of the screams in the ballroom earlier that night.

He had only heard them for a minute, and only from a distance, having made himself scarce before the first shots were fired, but he still remembered the sound of other people's terror.

Remembered the brief look of terror on the face of Emilia Zembrovko before he had shot it off her, and the look of horror and despair on Artur's face as he realised what Gleb had done – what he was about to do. Remembered the blood that remained as a stain on the carpet and walls and would likely never wash clean. He used the cover of new darkness to take the opportunity to close his eyes against the memories, but it did nothing to dispel them. Those memories – actions – were there to stay.

Still, he got to call himself President now, so he figured he just about came out on top.

"Minister Kodalov." The voice came from the doorway, and belonged to a shadowy figure clad all in black.

Kodalov could just about make out the shape from across the room, but he didn't need to see the man to know who it was. The man in the doorway was a former general in the Russian military, a man who had been cast out from his role when the new Russian president came to power following the death of Maria Ostrov and decided that many of the old generals were too imperialistic for the new order. He had found a way to continue his task by the roundabout method of making Gleb Kodalov President of Petria, knowing that Kodalov was friendly towards Russia and favoured an alliance with his close neighbours over allowing the imperialism of the West to take over. He was softening the ground for the future while seizing an opportunity to retaliate against the capitalist power plant and piss off the Americans generally, and Secretary McCord in particular, whom he loathed.

And the general had succeeded in his career by always being the smartest man in the room.

But the smartest man in the room had forgotten that power could trump brains. And now Kodalov, after biding his time at the beck and call at the general, had power – and the old Russian did not.

"Yes," Kodalov replied, staring straight in the direction of the doorway.

"You know the power cut must be the work of Secretary McCord."

"Yes."

There was a pause. "What are you going to do?"

Kodalov knew what the old general expected the answer to be, that he expected the response to be brash and abrupt and violent, but his task was done now. The new president's attention was turning to the long game, the game of keeping his power. Kodalov thought about his meetings with Elizabeth McCord; she always drove him crazy. So arrogant and moral and so damn _smart_. Sure, she could be rattled, and he had found ways over their acquaintance to unsettle her – leaning in too close while wearing too much cologne and bringing up the topic of Maria Ostrov being two unfailing ways, along with taking away her diplomatic status and shooting guns near her and her husband, of course – but she was always without doubt the smartest person in any room she was in. He hated that about her, but part of him admired it too.

Now she had turned out his lights. Infuriating – but brilliant. He'd remember that one for his playbook.

Gleb Kodalov laughed. "I think, my friend, I am going to make a call to Elizabeth McCord. Assuming of course she hasn't also turned off our phones."

"But Kodalov –"

"Mr President," he corrected the old general, who balked at the order from the man who had been so compliant while he was waiting to ascend to the highest office in the land. Kodalov thought he could get used to the position. "You call me Mr President now. Place the call."

* * *

It had gone past the official end of the work day some time ago, but the State Department was still full of staff placing urgent phone calls to contacts wherever they had them, and others who were simply waiting on some news.

Nadine Tolliver sat in her office, trying to distract herself from the lack of news by reviewing a backlog of reports on worthy but non-priority causes, figuring that she might as well do something with her time; after all, the Secretary would want to know that work still carried on no matter what might be going on elsewhere.

She had just started in on a report about the decline of worldwide bee populations when she was interrupted by the head of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security. A man usually given to good manners, Nadine knew it was urgent when he failed to knock before entering.

"What do you have?" she asked in lieu of a greeting, standing up and gripping onto the edge of her desk – just in case it should turn out she needed the support.

There was a smile on the man's face that had been absent over the past few hours; the expression looked almost foreign after so many sombre expressions and a general air of stress that had hung over the department since they heard the first reports of trouble in Petria. "They're on the plane, Ms Tolliver. The Secretary has made it to the plane, along with her husband and a skeleton security detail." He added as an afterthought: "And the prisoner."

"Prisoner?" Nadine hadn't heard anything about a prisoner; she supposed there was quite a lot she hadn't heard about over the past few hours of intermittent communications and bombastic news reports that may or may not have been true.

"Yes, Ma'am." The Diplomatic Security man seemed like he might be about to elaborate, but Nadine cut him off when she realised he had failed to address something important.

"What about Jay and Daisy, and the others who were missing in the palace?"

The man's face looked slightly troubled again. "A detail has gone to retrieve them. Ideally we'd get the Secretary airborne in the meantime, but she said no. Quite vehemently, from what I understand. She ordered the plane stationary until she knows her staff are safe and on board." It was clear the security man did not approve of this plan, but he was no doubt familiar enough with Elizabeth McCord to know when a fight wasn't going to be won.

For the first time, a small smile crossed Nadine's face. "Of course she did," she murmured.

He shrugged. "We're hoping for wheels up within the hour, assuming nothing else explodes before then."

"Very optimistic of you."

Nadine waited until the man had left her office before she picked up the phone. She should probably wait until the plane took off before she made the call. In fact, she should definitely wait before she made the call. If she made the call and got people's hopes up and then something unexpectedly awful happened in the intervening hour before the Secretary's plane took off, she'd have a whole barrage of extra hell to deal with.

She placed the call anyway. "Blake?" she said, when the phone was answered at the other end. "Are you still with the McCord children? Good news, of sorts. I think they'll want to hear this."

* * *

The plane sat on the tarmac outside a hangar at Rusapol International Airport, watched by armed guards from both Petria and the US, who eyed each other warily.

That mutual wariness bolstered Elizabeth's confidence a little; surely no guns would go off when they all had reasons to be unsure. No one would want to take the chance of mutually assured destruction.

She settled back into the wide plane seat, wincing as a dart of pain spread from her ribs and travelled through her body. Her head was pounding from a combination of stress, exhaustion, and several collisions with hard surfaces. Her eyelids felt heavy, drawn together like magnets. She forced herself to stay awake, shifting in her seat and almost welcoming the discomfort it brought; at least she wouldn't fall asleep while she was reliving the sensation of a shoe colliding with her ribcage.

Next to her sat Henry, who looked like he could fall asleep at any moment but was gamely sticking by her side to the bitter end. Her husband was incredible. A wave of guilt washed over her at what he had just gone through because of her – _not your fault_ , she knew he'd say, but she couldn't believe it – and she told herself that as soon as they were home, she was going to make sure he knew exactly just how much she appreciated him.

He had backed her up over her order to keep the plane on the ground until they were joined by the rest of their party, and for that she was infinitely grateful. He had been a Marine; he didn't like to leave anyone behind, either.

God, she loved him. "Hey, Henry," she said softly to get his attention, even though it was already on her.

His answering smile was soft and slightly sleepy. "Hmm?"

She was just about to thank him for standing with her throughout the whole awful visit to Petria when -

"Phone call, Madam Secretary." Matt entered through the door that separated the cockpit from the front seating area of the plane, a brick-like phone in his hand. One of the portable secure lines into the plane.

"Who?" she asked, although from the look on the DS agent's face, she thought that maybe she could guess.

"Gleb Kodalov, Ma'am."

 _Crap._ Elizabeth exchanged a look with Henry as she reached out to take the phone from Matt, who then stepped back towards the wall of the plane but elected to stay close by, as if she might need defending from the President of Petria from the other end of a phone line. She chose to think it sweet under the circumstances.

Feeling her husband watching her and taking comfort from his presence, Elizabeth held the phone up to her ear. "Good morning, Gleb." Because somehow it was morning, despite it still being dark outside thanks to a combination of lingering night and an absence of manmade lights across large stretches of Rusapol.

 _And whose fault is that?_ At least once they got on the plane she had finally been able to reach Mark Strong to ask him to set about the process of turning the switch back to _on_ , a piece of information she decided to withhold from Kodalov unless it became necessary to placate him in a hurry.

"Good morning," Kodalov replied in his accented English. "I thought, Elizabeth, that we should maybe speak before you leave my country."

She tried to get a read on his tone, but couldn't quite pin it down. She had never been able to properly pin him down. "About what?" she said, careful not to give anything away in her own voice. He didn't need to know that she was nervous of his response to her actions.

It sounded like he was smiling when he answered. "About your joke, switching off our power plant."

"I thought it was _our_ power plant, Gleb. You never wanted it."

He laughed out loud then. "I take it you were proving a point?"

She couldn't work out if he was angry or not. Couldn't tell if there was a hidden agenda behind his words. It didn't sound like there was… she guessed he didn't really need a hidden agenda anymore. He had what he wanted, and he was going to keep what he wanted in part thanks to silence on her part and Conrad's. She didn't answer his question; chose to let him think that he was right, and not confess to the fact that although she had indeed been proving a point, she had also been working on a little bit of survival instinct. Instead she said, "Who helped you pull this off? Which Russian generals?"

"That is unimportant."

"Actually, I think it's very important." She was certain that someone else had been the brains behind the coup; if Gleb Kodalov was being controlled by someone else behind the scenes, she wanted to know who the kingmaker was.

There was a pause. "No, Elizabeth. It isn't." The words were outwardly directed to her, but they sounded like maybe they were meant for someone else.

Oh. So Kodalov had discovered how to use his power. Elizabeth guessed that whoever his kingmakers were, they were going to be in for a shock when it turned out their boy wanted to rule on his own. For the sake of the people of Petria, she hoped that Kodalov knew what he was doing and who he was potentially up against. She hoped the generals did, too. "Was there anything else, Gleb? Because if not, I have some other things to do. Like leaving."

"I wanted to tell you that I look forward to working with you in my new role. I trust that our… relationship… will continue."

She could imagine his smirk and his swagger. Her skin felt like it was crawling as her brain supplied her with a memory of Kodalov in full-on slime mode to match the tone of his voice over the phone. Her jaw tightened and her grip tightened on the phone. In the seat beside her, Henry frowned and leaned forward in his seat. "Babe?" he murmured, low enough that it wouldn't carry down the phone line.

Elizabeth swallowed, put her game face back on. "I'm sure it will. We'll be watching your upcoming elections very closely."

"Then you will see when I win my personal mandate."

Yes, she probably would. Getting rid of Kodalov was likely to be a very long game indeed, but that was where democracy could come in handy. The Petrian constitution limited him to two terms as President unless he was booted out by the voters beforehand. Assuming, of course, he didn't rip up the constitution and put it in the bin. Somehow Elizabeth thought that he wouldn't; she didn't think he'd have the nerve or the brains to pull it off. "And I look forward to working with you on future trade deals to benefit both our nations." There was the hint of a tease in her voice, even as she was aware she was potentially antagonising him.

"Petria is an outward-looking country, Madam Secretary. There are many countries for us to do trade deals with, should we have the need." What he didn't say was what they both knew; that the number of countries currently willing to invest in Petria was likely to be quite small, but that they would badly need the investment in order to maintain credibility on the world stage under the nation's new leadership.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you need to keep the lights on, Gleb."

As if on cue, one of the security team popped her head out of the cockpit and handed a piece of paper to Matt, who passed it to Elizabeth. She read it. _Mark Strong says the power plant is back on_. _Lights up in fifteen minutes._ And apparently their communication abilities were on the up. That was good.

"You're lucky I have a sense of humour," said Kodalov. "And that I'm a very generous man."

She had to bite her tongue in order to stop herself from contradicting him – the man who had actively murdered people and caused the deaths of God knew how many others, and who had all too deliberately stuck her into hell, and Henry right along with her. "Oh, really?" She kept the enquiry casual.

"Yes. I've sent you a present. It should be arriving with you any moment now."

"What is it?"

"Have a safe flight, Elizabeth. You'll understand, won't you, when you see the news report that I have run you out of my country to save Petria from the meddling, imperialist menace? Don't take it personally."

Elizabeth bristled. "Oh, I'm afraid that I might."

Kodalov laughed again. The line went dead.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, hoping to calm her blood pressure and her nerves, which had been set on edge by the conversation with the slimiest bastard in world politics. Henry's hand touched her knee gently, smoothing over the bone calmingly. "Elizabeth? What did he say to you?"

She was just about to reply when movement outside the plane window caught her attention. She stood abruptly – too abruptly, her ribs and head reminded her, causing her to sway backwards slightly into Henry, who had stood up behind her. She paused a moment, Henry's hands on her hips to steady her. "He said he was sending me a present," she said.

It looked like it had arrived.

Outside the plane window, she saw a car driving towards them across the tarmac. It glinted under the lights of the airport that still shone thanks to its private power supply. It was hard to see until the car came close but then – yes, she was sure.

Elizabeth was unable to keep the grin from her face as the car came to a stop and out stepped her missing security team, followed a minute later by Daisy and Jay. Still dressed in their formalwear, they looked a little shell-shocked and dusty and just about ready to drop - but also so wonderfully, brilliantly, absolutely _alive_.

* * *

How to fix a nation? That was the question she asked herself as the plane's velocity increased and the wheels lifted from the ground and her fingers dug into the back of Henry's hand in response to the sudden take off.

How to fix a nation, and how to take down Kodalov. She mulled it over as the plane climbed higher into the sky and then banked sharply to the left to take them away from the airport and start the flight path towards home. Elizabeth was sure that the power game with Gleb Kodalov was going to go on for a while, but ultimately it was in their best interests to work together.

After all, Kodalov wouldn't want it to get out how he really came to power, would want the people of his nation to carry on thinking he had simply stepped up to serve at a time of unexpected crisis when President Zembrovko was killed in an attack orchestrated by forces nefarious. Elizabeth wondered what story he would try to peddle to the Petrian people once the dust had settled.

No, he wouldn't want the truth to get out. And neither did she, because if the truth came out, everyone would find out that the US had known how he came to power and yet did nothing, in fact had deliberately let him keep his presidency in exchange for some small concessions. That was her fault, she thought. Conrad had done that deal for her.

Something else to add to her list of things to feel guilty about.

So they all held each other to ransom with the tape of a recorded phone call, and Elizabeth _had_ to find a way to make things right. There had to be something she could do, a way to expose Kodalov without landing Conrad in the mess with him, a way of fixing it so that –

"Elizabeth." Henry's voice cut through her thoughts and the back of his hand brushed against her cheek, turning her to face to his as he sat beside her in the aisle seat. He blinked drowsily, clearly fighting sleep. He had been fighting it ever since they made a quick call to their kids on the plane's satellite phone in the minutes before take-off; the children's obvious joy and relief at hearing their parents' voices had soothed Henry and helped him let go of a large part of his tension, sending him spiralling towards sleep.

Talking to the kids had only made Elizabeth more adamant that she had to do something to fix the mess to make the world safer for her children. She couldn't let them live with the uncertainty that she had in part helped to cause.

She gave her husband a soft smile. "Hey," she said, leaning into his touch and enjoying the soft sweep of his thumb along her cheekbone, giving herself a moment – just a moment – to relax into him.

"Stop thinking now," he said - ordered. "You're hurt and exhausted. Go to sleep."

Her sweet, incredible husband. She knew he meant well. She even knew that he was right. And yet. She shook her head. "Henry, there's work to do."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat as he let out a slow, sleepy breath. "Yeah," he agreed. "There's work to do. But not now, OK? It can wait until we get home."

Elizabeth watched him watching her, a smile creeping onto her face as she watched him blinking drowsily and then his eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out and his hand dropped from her face to rest comfortably across her torso as he fell into an exhausted sleep beside her. She pressed a kiss to his forehead as his head came to rest against her shoulder and he unconsciously curled himself more fully around her, both protective of and seeking comfort in her.

Then she turned to look out of the window as the plane banked again and gave her a brief, sweeping view of the city below.

The power plant back up and running, the remaining electric lights of the night glinted like beacons in the distance and, over on the far horizon, there was the first glint of sunlight as dawn began to break over Rusapol.


End file.
